


nothing safe is worth the drive

by dwoht



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, I changed the title sorry, kara gives girl of steel a whole new meaning <3, okay i lied it’s a little bit angsty but like individual angst, photographer and videographer kara, soccer player lena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwoht/pseuds/dwoht
Summary: “You’re a quick finisher?” Kara asks. Then blushes. Again. She doesn’t think she’s had a first impression go so poorly, not to mention the thought of Lena finishing anywhere but in a game is a bit too much for her brain at one in the afternoon. Horrified, she stumbles through, “I meant, like, on the field. Of course.”“Quick? I don’t know about that,” Lena teases. Then she honest-to-God winks. “You’ll have to be the judge of that.” Kara just opens her mouth wordlessly. “When you see me play, of course.”“Of course,” Kara echoes.OR,Kara asks to do a documentary on Lena, and it gets a bit out of hand.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 48
Kudos: 318





	1. one

**lenaluthor**

_Hi!! Sorry to bother you. Please don’t  
_ _feel pressured to respondto me or anything  
_ _(not that you would, but just in case)._

It isn’t the best beginning to her elevator pitch Kara has ever tried, but it’ll do.

_I’m a sports photographer who has primarily  
covered woso, and has second shot for a dude  
named James Olsen for some USWNT events._

‘Dude’ is not the most professional thing she’s ever written either.

_Anyway, I’ve been exploring videography  
segments, and I was wondering if you would  
be open to me shooting a mini documentary  
of you at a camp or something._

It then occurs to her Lena has probably never even heard of her, even if she has managed to weasel her way into the women’s soccer media world slightly.

Logically, this is when she would send her resume or portfolio or a mutual friend’s name or even her website at all, to prove she’s who she says she is, but instead she finds her thumbs typing out another message altogether.

_Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer or anything._

Kara can practically hear Alex laughing at her. She backtracks.

_Maybe it’s weird to say that. Sorry._

And then, just in case…

_But for real I’m not. kdphotography.com_

It’s a long shot for sure, something Alex also told her, but Kara _has_ second shot for James a couple times, and she knows, as humbly as she can, that she’s actually quite good. For a rookie photographer who only started to get into sports as a niche a year or so ago, she’s made a reasonable splash in the industry.

Still, the odds that Lena Luthor of all people will even see her DM, much less reply, is a drop in the bucket at best. Kara has always been an optimist, though.

She perks up as her music starts to fade out, hinting that a call is coming through, and the guess is confirmed by her ringtone a second later.

“Alex,” she greets, already sighing at the question she knows is coming.

“How’s the stump?” her sister says in lieu of an actual hello. And then, immediately, “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I’m not,” Kara lies. She rubs absentmindedly at her temples, eyes trained on the endless list of RAW files she still has to cull. “It’s fine. It’s _always_ fine. It hurt for, like, a day, that’s it.”

“Okay, Supergirl,” Alex says, her smile palpable even through the phone.

“Now I _am_ rolling my eyes,” she deadpans. She hits speakerphone and thunks her phone onto the desk unceremoniously. “I can’t believe Winn came up with that nickname. Or that you guys went with it.”

“Hey, I think it’s clever,” Alex says, the way she does every time Kara half-heartedly complains about it. “Girl of Steel and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kara mumbles. She wonders if she’ll ever stop pretending the nickname annoys her, even though everyone knows she loves it. It’s quiet for a moment. “Is that it?”

“Rude,” Alex scoffs. “Since you asked so nicely, I also was going to ask about how your proposition to Lena went.”

“That was, like, two minutes ago,” Kara says. “She isn’t going to reply…” she trails off, as her phone lights up. The notifications from Instagram come rolling in.

**[kdphotography]** _lenaluthor has started following you_

**[kdphotography]** _lenaluthor 1 new message_

**[kdphotography]** _lenaluthor 2 new messages_

“Call you back?” Alex guesses.

“Yeah,” Kara says, already sliding open the app. “I’ll keep you posted.”

**lenaluthor**

_I must have seen you at some events._

_At any rate, James has spoken_ _highly  
of you. What would this project entail?_

The whole reply, from the word choice to the way the sentences are laid out all seems rather… business-like. Kara wonders if she should have gone in with a more professional vibe, and, you know, actually reached out to Lena’s manager like a normal person.

_Nothing crazy! I was thinking shots of  
_ _you going throughout camp, and then the  
_ _game of course with little bits of interview  
_ _about your story here and there._

_If you want someone with a story,  
_ _perhaps I can recommend some other  
_ _teammates of mine._

_Everyone has a story  
_ Seen

Yikes.

_You don’t have to, of course. I admire you  
_ _as an athlete, and I know others do too. I’d love  
_ _to show them there’s a person behind the soccer  
_ _persona as well. That’s all_

_If I’m being totally honest with you, this  
_ _documentary thing is new to me too. You’d  
_ _be the first one. It’s a pilot program, iguess_

Kara holds her breath, already resisting the urge to send another message no doubt rambling all over herself to try to make up for whatever faux pas she’s accidentally committed.

_You’re based in Palo Alto?_

She exhales.

_Yes_

_Would you like to come to training tomorrow?  
_ _I currently play for San Francisco Football Club._

_I know._

_Sorry if that’s weird. I’d love to_

_See you then, Kara._

—

‘Then’ comes a lot quicker than Kara was prepared for, and after sleeping through her alarm twice, she’s already twenty minutes late as she rolls out of bed the next morning.

She curses Last Night Kara for not getting anything ready for the day. Vaguely, she recalls chatting with Alex for another hour, staying up until three in the morning culling photos, and then rolling into bed still in her street clothes. Not much else comes to mind.

Though she should by now have learned to be more gentle, her camera gives a little thunk as she tosses it into her backpack after a couple lenses. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Please don’t break.”

The drive is long, giving her ample time to think about whether she should message Lena and apologize for being late, but she realizes they never agreed on anything specific, so she might as well leave it alone and hope nobody notices.

Of course, “You’re late,” is the first thing Lena says to her.

Kara blushes, and not just because Lena is disastrously more beautiful up close and in real life. “Actually, I don’t think we said an exact time.”

“Welcome to SFFC,” Lena says, sweeping her arm across the scene behind her.

“New stadium,” Kara observes. The distinct lack of gum on the ground is as telltale as anything, as is the fact that everything still looks shiny and new. “I’m glad to be here.”

Though she presents a rather polished exterior, Lena’s eyes twinkle as she waves her off. “None of that. I don’t like small talk.” Her fingers deftly reach behind her neck to pull a strand of pre-wrap around her neck, which she pulls off, ties, and rolls as she talks. “We’ve still got another hour or so to go, but you can hang out, do whatever, and then we’ll talk business after.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kara says without thinking. _We want her to like us, don’t be weird_ , she mentally berates herself. Lena arches an eyebrow perfectly in time with the flush that creeps up her neck.

While Lena is a leading veteran for sure on the national team, there’s more equality there. Those thirty or so women are pretty much on equal playing field, and are theoretically the best in the nation. In the club scene of the U.S., there are players just a step down with national players from all countries mixed in.

As that is, teams are usually built around those couple stars. From the way the teams are split up to the calls she hears being put out, Kara immediately identifies those leading players as Lena, of course, and another she doesn’t recognize. Not from the national team, but an incredible touch.

_Must be from another country_ , she decides.

She really intended to snap pictures, because since when did anyone get an inside look into club training? but her feet carry her to the benches, and she sits, just watching.

Lena is, on all accounts, pretty incredible.

Her legs pump with a graceful effortlessness Kara knows she used to have, and she runs play after play without looking like it’s even difficult. Her green pre-wrap sticks out like a sore thumb, but Kara revels in the fact that it just makes it that much easier to pick her out.

The horrifying thought that someone on the team might recognize her from youth days washes over her like she’s been dunked in ice, but after swallowing her nervousness and scanning the field quickly, she doesn’t spot any familiar faces. A quick scroll through the roster on her phone confirms she’s safe.

She briefly entertains the idea that Lena herself might recognize her, but a name change and ten years of maturity seems to have done the trick, and Kara didn’t notice any out of place curiosity or recognition when they first met.

The hour passes much too quickly for Kara’s liking, and while the sight of so many wonderful players running drills and scrimmages and then cool-down exercises sparks a bit of jealousy and self-pity — a healthy amount, she convinces herself —, she’s mostly just amazed.

“What’d you think?” Lena says. There’s a half-smile on her face as she stands over Kara with her hands on her hip.

“I think you should be a defender,” Kara says.

Lena’s eyes practically light up with delight at that, and there’s an artful playfulness edging its way out as she says, “Oh? Do say more.”

“You’re an excellent center-mid, don’t get me wrong,” Kara starts, “but the way you mark other players has a skill to it I rarely see. You think like a defender, which is why you’re so good at playing against them. But I’d love to see how you do actually _in_ that role.”

There’s a beat of silence, and the smile lingering on Lena’s bright red lips — who wears red lipstick to soccer practice? — gives way to a thoughtful purse to match the arch of her eyebrow. Kara is almost worried she’s offended the other woman when she says, “You’re right.”

“I’m what?” Kara says dumbly.

“I started playing soccer as a left-back,” Lena clarifies. She props one foot up to undo her laces, and deftly starts loosening them with one hand. “My speed and stamina would be wasted there, or so I was told, and my knack for finishing as well. Midfield was the compromise.”

“You’re a quick finisher?” Kara asks. Then blushes. Again. She doesn’t think she’s had a first impression go so poorly, not to mention the thought of Lena finishing anywhere but in a game is a bit too much for her brain at one in the afternoon. Horrified, she stumbles through, “I meant, like, on the field. Of course.”

“Quick? I don’t know about that,” Lena teases. Then she honest-to-God winks. “You’ll have to be the judge of that.” Kara just opens her mouth wordlessly. “When you see me play, of course.”

“Of course,” Kara echoes.

The thoughtful look is still ever present, and Lena says, “Your observation is quite astute, though,” and it’s a statement, not a question when she adds, “You know a lot about soccer.”

Kara fixes her eyes on the way Lena slips into a pair of slides and rounds her boots up by the laces. “Yes.” Lena waits for her to elaborate. She doesn’t. “So. Business talk, now?”

“Of course,” Lena says, slipping back into the almost haughty air of professionalism. The twinkle still lingers when she bites at her bottom lip and says, “Although, can we get lunch? I’m starving.”

“I know a great place on Folsom and Precita,” Kara offers. They’re halfway to Kara’s Prius when she notes, “You aren’t going to shower?”

“Are you saying I smell?” Lena counters. Kara stutters out something along the lines of, “I haven’t checked,” when Lena takes pity on her and says, “No, I have another practice session in the evening. I don’t like showering twice a day.”

Lena in the shower is another image Kara definitely doesn’t need, so she distracts herself with immediately offering another question, “I was thinking, only if you want to do this documentary, of course, we could do January camp?”

“The roster hasn’t been released yet,” Lena says. Kara knows what she’s hinting at, but she adds anyway, “I might not get called up.”

“You will,” Kara says simply.

The strangely polished, yet playful aura that surrounds Lena carries the conversation easily over the car ride. While Kara is more nervous than she’s been in a long time, it just feels easy for them to fall into place with each other.  She says as much as she slides into the parking spot, and then, as she’s double-locking the car, she continues, “I can’t believe you saw my DM.”

“Your friend, James, may or may not have told me to open it,” Lena says. Kara looks surprised, though maybe she shouldn’t, because Lena seems to think nothing of it. “Like I said, he speaks highly of you.”

“He’s a good friend,” Kara agrees.

“Tell me, why does he call you Supergirl?” Lena asks. Her hands slide easily into her jacket pockets, and her shoulders swing with a kind of carefreeness that Kara can only describe as manufactured.

Again, weird. _Maybe she_ is _a robot_ , she wonders, and then her brain catches up with the question.

Pausing at the corner of the street, Kara wiggles her left leg,gestures down her jean clad leg, and all the way to the steel prosthetic ankle that extends down into her shoe and up past the cuff of her pants. “Girl of Steel,” she explains with a little smile.

“You’re an amputee,” Lena states. Kara nods, giving no more elaboration than she did when she was asked about her soccer knowledge. The blonde wonders if she’ll put two and two together, half-afraid and half-hoping, but Lena doesn’t.

As such, Kara goes straight to business when they sit down. “You opened the DM, so you must be a little bit interested.”

“I am,” Lena says, slowly sipping her water. “Really, I just want to know how it’ll function. It wouldn’t just affect me, it would be the whole team, the staff.”

“Right, and I thought about that,” Kara says hurriedly. The pitch she’d practiced the whole car ride to the stadium swims foggily throughout her brain, so she just dumps whatever she can remember out and hopes something sticks. “I would travel with you guys, on my own finances of course, and would get VIP access to everything. Essentially, I’d be your shadow. I’d need signed face releases from everyone on the team and staff, and those who decline would be blurred over. But it would be obvious anyway.”

“I don’t think anyone will have a problem with that,” Lena assures her with a little smile. “What else? What’s the goal?”

She thinks on this, because her goal sort of ended with ‘get Lena to agree.’ She never imagined it would go further. Eventually, she says, “I want to tell _your_ story. Not the story the media likes, not the story of your career. I want all of it. Who you are, how you got here, and where you’re going. As _you_. As just Lena.”

“What if you decide halfway you hate me and want to use the documentary to ruin my life and image?” Lena asks, eyebrow raised like it’s a test.

It might as well be; Kara feels like crawling out of her own skin at the way Lena is looking her up and down. “There would be an entire contract written up, about what artistic liberties I have and what you are allowed to approve or veto.” She shrugs, though. “But, Lena — I’d never do that.”

“I know,” Lena says simply. “What kind of payment would you be looking for?”

“Nothing,” Kara says immediately. Lena raises her eyebrows again, almost disbelieving, which is admittedly fair. “This is my first one, so I don’t think it would be right to ask to be paid. Also, I reached out to _you_ , _and_ it would only benefit me. No payment.”

“Alright,” Lena says.

Silence.

Kara’s heart starts to flutter with something akin to hope. “Alright?”

Lena smiles. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

And then she’s exploding with, “Oh, my gosh, this is going to be so much fun, you won’t regret it at all.” This is where Alex would tell her she’s about to scare the poor woman off, but Lena just sits there with an amused smirk on her lips as Kara continues to ramble out thank you’s.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, I assume,” Lena says, pausing pointedly as if to say, _Correct?_

“Right,” Kara says.

“So, then,” she says, leaning forward and all but capturing Kara with her thick gaze. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one,” comes her instictive reaction.

“Everyone has a story,” Lena says immediately. Her words echo the ones Kara had messaged her, but there’s no mockery in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

Kara takes a deep breath, spending twice the amount of time necessary to fold the napkin on her lap as she stalls. Finally, she looks up. “How about I tell you in January?” It’s a deflection, they both know that, but Kara silently begs Lena to take it.

“Well, let’s not forget we don’t know yet,” Lena reminds her. “But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

**—**

The first thing Alex says when she’s told is, “I can’t believe you pulled that off.”

“Why?” Kara complains. “I’m charming.”

Alex leans back from the stove and fixes Kara with a stare. “Charming, yes. Famous, no. Lena has two million Instagram followers, while you have, what, two-thousand?”

“And thirty-seven,” Kara says, sticking out her tongue. “James probably helped, though. Lena said he told her to check my message.” Alex’s attention has turned back to the pasta sauce, and she just makes a noise of acknowledgement. “She asked why he calls me ‘Supergirl.’”

“Oh?” The tension in Alex’s tone is palpable. “And?”

“I showed her my ankle,” Kara shrugs. “She didn’t seem to remember me at all. I mean, why would she? We never actually met.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Alex asks, as if Kara hasn’t been lying awake for the past week thinking about the same thing.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Maybe. Do you think she’ll think it’s weird?”

“Not at all,” Alex says. “Although, if she’s a good person, it might make her feel a bit guilty.”

“She’s a good person,” Kara says defensively.

“Right,” Alex says, rolling her eyes. “Her feeling guilty is _bad_.”

Kara fiddles with the sleeve of her prosthetic. “Oh.”

“Pass me those plates,” she instructs, proceeding to pile them high with spaghetti. “So, when do you find out if January is on or not?”

“After Christmas,” Kara says ruefully. She pokes at her food. “I don’t know what to do if she doesn’t.”

“She will,” Alex says, spinning some noodles onto her fork. “Now, eat up, and tell me it tastes just like mom’s.”

“It tastes just like mom’s,” Kara mumbles dutifully through her pasta.

“Thank you,” Alex says. She frowns. “Speaking of, what are you getting her for Christmas?”

“Oh, shoot, that’s soon,” Kara says. She thinks on it for a second. “Free tickets to the January game?”

“That’s not bad,” Alex says sourly. “How am I supposed to top that?”

“You couldn’t top anything if you tried,” Kara mumbles. “Ow!” She ducks Alex’s second wack in the head.

“I’ll have you know that I once — oh, my God.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Kara follows Alex’s gaze down to her phone, where Alex’s eyes are wide and more shocked than she was when Kara first told her about her Lena plan in the first place. “Excuse me, stop snooping.”

“Samantha Arias followed you,” Alex says, sliding the phone over.

Sure enough, the notification is there.

**[kdphotography]** _sammy_arias20 has started following you_

“Nice,” Kara says. “I forgot about your crush.”

Alex shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth. “It’s not a crush. It’s — admiration.”

“Right, well, when I’m with her for a month straight at camp, I’ll put in a good word,” Kara says, sipping her wine.

“Oh, my God,” Alex says, eyes shooting open even wider. Her next words are very un-Alex-like as she stutters through, “Do not do that. Kara. Oh, my God. Do not say anything, _please_. I’ll never ask you for anything ever again —“

“Alright, jeez,” Kara mumbles.

“I know what you can get me for Christmas, though,” Alex grins. She wiggles her eyebrows and mouths, _Tickets to see Sam_. Kara throws a noodle at her.

**—**

It occurs to Kara that it would be nice to go into the whole camp situation knowing more than one person, and preferably knowing that one person slightly better than ‘we met once.’ The logical solution is to start hanging out with Lena regularly. San Francisco is only forty-five minutes away, after all.

But she doesn’t. Because Lena is busy, right? Why would she have time for Kara?

So when her phone rings at eleven in the evening on a random Thursday, it’s surprising. When she flips it over to check the caller ID, and it’s Lena of all people, it’s almost hard to believe. She hesitantly hits answer, and sets it to speakerphone. “Hello?”

“I gave you my number so you could use it,” comes Lena’s reply.

“Oh. Well, I didn’t want to — I mean, you’re busy,” Kara stammers out. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous or, I don’t know. Sorry.”

“I’m kidding,” comes a little chuckle. Kara deflates. “Well, sort of. I really do want to try and get to know you a bit better before we begin, thuogh. If I’m going to be spilling all my secrets to you, you can’t be a stranger, now can you?”

“No,” Kara agrees. She plops herself onto the closed toilet, and starts rolling off her sleeve. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Phone call once a week,” Lena says. “Just to chat. No pressure. Just getting to know each other.”

“I talk a lot,” Kara warns.

“And I don’t talk enough,” Lena says, warmth radiating through the crackling of the phone line. "Perfect."

“Alright, let’s play twenty questions,” Kara decides, wondering if that’s not acceptable when you’re twenty-six.

“What’s your favorite color?” Lena asks.

Kara stumbles over the word, though she doesn’t know why. “Green.” She slides her prosthetic off, practically moaning as her leg feels fresh air for the first time in fourteen hours. “You?”

“Blue,” Lena says. “Or red.”

“Very American,” Kara teases.

“Hardly,” Lena scoffs. There’s a hum of silence. “I’m actually Irish. I have a dual-citizenship.”

“You don’t have an accent,” Kara says, though as soon as she does, she realizes Lena _does_ have some slight inflections. The way she curls her mouth around certain words, the way she uses certain words and phrases such as ‘have a chat’ and ‘phone me’ and ‘I love potatoes.’

“Not much anymore,” Lena says, “though it used to be stronger. I moved here when I was twelve.” There’s some rustling in the background, and then, “Tell me about your family.”

“Just the three of us,” Kara says, wiping off her stump with a damp towel. “Myself, my sister, Alex, and our mother. I’m actually adopted.”

“Me too,” Lena says quietly. “That’s… why I came to America. My parents died, and the only living relatives I had were the Luthors.”

“What’s your last name?” Kara asks, throat thick at the importance of such honesty.

“Luthor,” comes her reply.

“I mean _your_ last name,” Kara says, heavy on the implications.

“McGrath,” Lena says finally. “Very Irish.”

“I like it,” Kara says. This is the perfect time to bring up her own last name change, but she holds off. “And your family?”

“I’ve got an older brother, estranged,” Lena says. There’s a frown detectable in her voice even over the phone, but then a sarcastic drawl when she continues, “And two parents. Sadly, not estranged.”

Kara finishes rinsing off the pad and inner sleeve of her prosthetic. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lena says. “And I suspect you’ll get that full story whenever we get to camp. Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Cats.”

“One sec,” Kara mumbles, hopping over to her bed. She flops onto it rather unceremoniously and wiggles under the covers. Her phone takes its place on her nightstand. “Sorry. Hard to talk while moving around.”

“Your ankle,” Lena says. There’s no question, just a prompt.

“And I suspect _you’ll_ get _that_ story,” Kara says. She nibbles on her lower lip, and if anyone asked it would totally be because she’s so tired she isn't thinking straight, but she says, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Ms. _Danvers_ ,” comes Lena’s scandalized reply. Kara flushes. “No, I’m not. Are you?”

“No,” Kara says softly.

The calls continue like that, though they end up being more like every day rather than every week. They even start FaceTiming after a few days, and Kara wonders at how Lena always manages to look so… perfect.  She’s beautiful, of course. Pretty. And when she has her hair up in a bun to match her sweatpants, Kara would even go as far as to call her cute. But it’s the constant state of perfection that’s almost unsettling.

Before she knows it, Christmas has arrived, and Lena’s off visiting her family in New York. This means she’s three hours ahead of Kara back in California, and so, two days after Christmas, when the roster is released, she gets the news first. She awakes to the text, fumbling for her phone as soon as her eyes blink open.

**Lena :)**

**[6:03 AM]:** _See you at January camp!_


	2. two

The two of them had decided that, as they were both going to fly out of San Francisco International Airport, they might as well meet up and go together.

Kara had said something along the lines of, “We won’t sit together, though,” to which Lena had replied with a knowing smile and a, “We’ll keep each other company at the gate then.”

The club season had been over for a few weeks at that point, meaning Kara had had no excuse to see Lena before the flight out. She could have done some pre-camp interviews — in fact, she probably should have —, but she didn’t want to press too much before they’d even left, so she’d held off.

Well, sort of.

She _does_ take to texting Lena every day, multiple times a day, about what she should pack or where they were going or what to expect or even just previews of shots she’d taken. She always sent pictures of the best photos in her portfolio with a nonchalant, _What do you think?_ , and though Lena probably saw right through it, she still dutifully typed back, _Beautiful, Kara_.

“Sorry for texting you so much,” Kara apologizes after a beat of silence that lasts too long.

The Uber driver is looking back at them like he recognizes Lena, but isn’t sure from where. Lena either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and Kara wonders how often things like this actually happen to her.

“It’s okay,” Lena says with a little smile. “I enjoy hearing from you, and I’m sure you’re excited. First camp and all that,” she teases.

Kara bites back the response that’s at the tip of her tongue, knowing that if she says, _Actually, it’s not_ ,it’ll open a can of worms she’d prefer to keep closed. Instead, she nods in agreement, and slumps back against the seat. “Yeah. Excited is one word for it.”

The Uber driver pulls up to the terminal drop-off point, and seems no more enlightened than he was when they first got in the car. He still frowns at them suspiciously as they slide out, though he almost barely starts to smile when Kara waves with a little, “Thank you!”

Airport Lena is not much from regular Lena, although she wears what can only be described as active loungewear. White U.S. Soccer socks are visible through her slides, and they crawl up to cover the ends of her black leggings.

The leggings, Kara decides, should be illegal. They’re LuLu, of course, because she recalls Lena is sponsored by them or something, and they’re so tight they might as well be her skin. Every muscle in her leg is visible when she moves, from the flex of her calf as she steps up onto the curve to the pulse in her quad when she leans over on one leg to grab her coffee cup from the top of the Uber.

And, well, while Kara considers herself a feminist on all accounts, she’s only human, and Lena’s ass looks great.

Still, the soccer player still looks almost unnaturally put together. Her hair is put into a messy bun, but it’s tight and doesn’t move, like it’s been sculpted. The fly away hairs look styled, like each one was chosen to escape the confines of the bun, and her baby hairs lay flat.

The socks in sandals thing is kind of ugly, but still in a fashionable sort of way, and every article of clothing looks like it stepped directly off the rack of the store. The slides, though white, are perfectly clean and shiny, and even Lena’s sweater has creases ironed into them in all the right places.

Robot? _Jury’s still ou_ t, Kara decides.

Lena has a way of parting crowds that Kara decidedly does not. Whether it’s the look in her eyes as she meets everyone with full on eye contact, or the way she strides with long, full steps, she walks like she owns the place. She leads them through check-in and over to TSA, where she steps over to the Pre-Check line.

“Oh, I don’t have that,” Kara says, turning towards the regular security queue.

Lena reaches out to grab her arm, but must think better of it because she snatches it back before it’s even landed. “You do now.”

“Um… no, I don’t,” Kara says, much to Lena’s amusement.

“I upgraded you,” Lena says. For the first time, she actually looks a little bit nervous. And then she’s shaking her head, eyebrows furrowed, “I hope that’s okay. I apologize, I should have asked.”

Kara blink at her for a second. “Don’t be sorry, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

TSA has always been a bit of a hassle, though at this point she’s fairly used to it. Everything is routine, from being pulled aside to have her hands swabbed for bomb residue or narcotics, to having an agent pat her down in the most intimate of places to check for any more contraband.

What _isn’t_ normal is the face of one adorably confused Lena halfway out of the TSA stations when she must realize Kara isn’t following her, and looks back. Kara gives her a little wave and then her index finger as if to say, _Hold on, just a minute._

“They do extra security on me and Stumpy,” Kara explains as soon as she catches up. She’s slinging the other strap of her backpack on, and doesn’t miss the way Lena’s hand shoots out to spot the swing of the pack and settle it gently against her lower back. “They pat me down physically, and then check me for chemicals and stuff.”

“Why?” Lena’s eyebrows furrow in what looks almost like anger. “Is that allowed?”

“They’re just doing their job,” Kara laughs, hoping it’ll appease her. “My prosthetic makes the detector go off, so they have to do a more routine search just in case.”

“Girl of Steel,” Lena says thoughtfully.

“Indeed,” she agrees. She realizes she’s blindly following Lena through the airport, though it’s nice to be with someone who apparently knows it like the back of her hand. “It’s annoying, but not a big deal for me anymore.”

“My apologies, I —“ she bites her lip, which for the first time isn’t painted a sultry red. “I hope this isn’t offensive, and please forgive me if it is, but I forget about your ankle sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing,” Kara says with a smile. She bumps her shoulder into Lena’s gently, though it doesn’t do much to ease the tight smile Lena seems to be trying to match to match. “I’m able to hide it well because the amputation is below my knee. I don’t have ankle mobility, but I can bend my knee to make my strides look more normal and feel more efficient.”

“Can you run?” Lena asks, thoughtfully. The question is innocent no doubt, but it sucks all the air out of Kara’s lungs anyway.

“I don’t, um, I don’t know,” she mumbles. Her fingers absentmindedly move to play with the hair tie she has on her wrist as she rambles out, “I mean, physically, yes, I’m probably able to run. But I would need training and prosthetics specially for that and I just haven’t tried it yet, but I could, but I —“

“Kara.” Lena cuts her off gently with a hand on her elbow and a calming, but firm look in her eyes. Kara decides it should _also_ be illegal for Lena to make direct eye contact with her. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I apologize for asking.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Kara says, poking her in the shoulder to try and ignore the fact that her newfound difficulty breathing is now due to the never-ending allure of Lena’s gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”

Silence.

“…Sorry,” comes Lena’s tentative reply.

Lena has not only upgraded her TSA rating, she’s also moved her to first class. Kara doesn’t think she’s ever been first class anything, and is about to comment on how far the women’s team funding has come when she catches herself just in time.

Instead, she says, “Thank you, Lena, I mean it,” and stuffs her bag in the overhead compartment.

“You know,” Lena muses, settling herself and sliding open the window, “I’m actually a lot more excited about this than I thought I would be.”

“That’s good news,” Kara jokes. She fiddles with the seatbelt for a couple seconds before giving up and letting it hang loosely around her hips. “Do you mind if we go over today, and what I’m hoping to get done?”

“Not at all,” Lena says, and Kara is starting to realize that the 'I'm an old lady' thing is just how Lena talks. Like, all the time. “Please, continue.”

“Just some typical shots to put together of you getting off the plane, going into camp. I was hoping to do an interview with you, maybe in the car on the way there, and then later on in the evening,” Kara says, hoping it’s not too much. “And maybe an interview or two with some of your closer friends on the team.”

“That sounds perfect,” Lena assures her, tapping her chin absentmindedly. “I know just the person, actually. My best friend, Sam.”

“Samantha Arias?” Kara asks, a grin spreading over her face.

Lena eyes this warily. “Yes. Why? Do you know her?”

“No,” Kara says, “but my sister is a little bit in love with her.” A pause. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.” _Good job, Kara. Day one and you’ve already failed at the one thing you promised Alex._

“She has that way about her,” Lena agrees, with a sort of wistful smile that makes Kara think the two of them absolutely hooked up at one point. She eyes the way Kara absentmindedly rolls the liner of her ankle up and down. Deliberating for a moment, her mouth opens and closes rapidly, before she rolls her eyes at herself and says, “Do you mind if — Sam told me not to ask, but I’ve been curious about what happened.” Her cheeks color. “So, I suppose this is me asking.”

“Bone cancer,” Kara says, marveling at the way it flows easily off her tongue. Her therapist says that’s because she hasn’t confronted her trauma yet, but Lena doesn’t need to know that. “It was localized in one area, and luckily an elective amputation took it all out.”

“What was the other option?” Lena asks, already looking ashamed for asking.

“The usual,” Kara says with a little shrug. “Surgery to remove just the tumor, then a round or two of chemotherapy. No guarantee it wouldn’t spread or come back. No guarantee of survival.”

“And the survival rate with an amputation?” Lena asks.

“Like, ninety-nine percent,” Kara says.

Lena mouths, _Wow_ , silently, and leans back in her seat to take a sip of water.

The trip itself passes quickly, thankfully, as San Francisco to Colorado aren’t too far from each other. Kara always did enjoy flying, though she could never figure out why, and occupies herself easily with plugging in her headphones and watching the sky out of the window past Lena.

After a couple hours of easy silence, her gaze flickers back to Lena.  She startles at the realization that this may be the first time she’s seen her more… normal. Her posture is still far more upright than any normal person on an airplane, and her feet are planted on the floor next to each other like they're glued there, but her facial expression is almost lazy as she blinks slowly a few times.

“Are you okay?” Kara whispers.

A waft of some flowery perfume flows towards her with the turn of Lena’s head, and she nods, an easy smile landing on her lips. “I get sleepy on airplanes. I always have.” She pauses, blinking rapidly a few times, and then straightening up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Kara laughs, gesturing vaguely towards how she’s lounging with her feet up and practically contorted in on herself.

Lena shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You apologize a lot,” Kara says, in a way that tries to convey, _You don’t have to._

Lena throws her a lopsided smile, sleep still clouding her eyes. “This is a documentary, not a therapy session.”

A chuckle bubbles up at that, and Kara acquiesces, “Fair enough.”

“Are you nervous?” Lena asks, turning the tables back to her.

“Excited,” Kara says. The hum of the airplane fills the air for a few seconds as Lena watches her think, and then she adds, “And maybe a little nervous.”

“You’re only human,” Lena assures her. “There are a couple rookies this camp, so you won’t be on your own in that sense, and everyone is extremely kind. Honestly, they can’t wait to meet you.”

“Oh,” Kara says, feeling pleased. “That’s a relief to hear, honestly. I was worried I’d be crashing or something.”

“Not at all,” Lena says, waving her off. “Though, I must admit, a large part of why I said yes to you was because I knew you’d fit in. You know your soccer, and you’re similar in age to the rest of us.”

_It’s almost like I could have been_ , Kara thinks. If Lena notices the sudden melancholy look that’s taken over her, she doesn’t mention anything. Before she does, Kara says, “My nerves aren’t really that logical. I have a… history with soccer. That’s all.”

_That’s all_ , as if she didn’t just say the vaguest sentence ever to be spoken.

Lena doesn’t press, though, and even if she wants to, she doesn’t let on at all. She just offers Kara a gentle smile, and turns her attention back to the window. The fact that she doesn’t seem the least bit concerned should be a blessing, but Kara can’t stop herself from blurting out, “You aren’t going to ask?”

“Do you want me to?” Lena asks, amusement coloring her tone. Kara shakes her head. “Well, then I won’t.” There’s a pause, and for a moment her face flashes with something akin to shame, fear, and anger. As soon as it comes, the moment passes, and she meets Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze. “We all have our secrets, Kara. I understand.”

The descent into the Colorado landing strip does little to ease her nerves, though planning the shots she’ll take help a little bit, and as they wait for the rest of the plane to pack up and depart, she fiddles with her camera.

The routine of fitting the twenty-four millimeter lens, finding the focus, and adjusting her camera on the gimbal helps settle her a bit, and for a moment she’s just doing what she does best. She can’t even enjoy _that_ without thinking, _Second best_ , but she occupies herself with filming Lena disembarking the plane.

She keeps rolling out of the terminal and into their Uber, and fixes the camera steady on Lena’s face in the backseat next to her. “Good to do a mini-interview?”

“Of course,” Lena says, slipping her arms into her team issued U.S. Soccer zip-up. She fumbles for the zipper as she says, “We’re about twenty minutes from the hotel.”

“More than enough time,” Kara smiles. She checks the live view finder to make sure Lena is framed properly, and then starts, “So, how are you feeling about coming into camp?”

“That’s a very broad question,” Lena muses. She glances out the window, and sighs. “Honestly, I just feel really happy. I love this team, and I love this sport, and there’s nothing like stepping on the field to represent your country.”

“How is it looking back on your past self?” Kara asks. Lena looks at her a little quizzically, so she elaborates, “Knowing where you get to — here, now —, how does it feel to think about all the times before when your place wasn’t so secure on the team, or you were maybe going through some trials and tribulations.”

“It’s nice to know firsthand what people mean when they say, ‘it gets better,’” Lena says with a wry little smile. “My life now is truly beyond my wildest dreams, but I also think that there’s nothing my current self could have, or even should have, for that matter, done for my past self. If I could, that is. Everything that led up to now needed to happen.” She pauses. “Does that make sense?”

“Definitely,” Kara coaxes. “And, your experiences are your own. As long as it makes sense to _you_ , that’s what matters.”

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve this,” Lena says quietly. She starts picking at the edge of a fingernail, but then like she’s been electrocuted, she stops suddenly and stuffs her hands into her pockets. “I feel like there are people who are more talented, or would be more grateful, or just would have a better time. Soccer wasn’t always a positive point in my life, and it’s hard for me to admit that because there are people who have poured nothing but love into this sport that will never get half the opportunities I have.”

For the first time, a hint of bitterness starts crawling up the back of Kara’s throat. _Yeah,_ I _deserve this_ , she wants to say. She wants to grit her teeth angrily and say, _You’re right. This is_ my _dream, you’re just living it._

“I have an immense amount of privilege,” Lena says, looking directly at her, almost like she knows exactly what she’s thinking. “I understand that. And I go into every camp savoring it as though it could be my last, and celebrating like it’s my first.”

**—**

All eyes turn to her with a healthy mix of interest, judgement, and kindness.

All the faces are vaguely recognizable, with some being more so, and some being brand new to Kara. She spies Lucy Lane in the back row, and tries to avoid eye contact with her, though with also trying to avoid eye contact with the coach, Cat, and _also_ trying to avoid eye contact with Lena, it’s proving to be difficult to find somewhere to actually look.

Putting her out of her misery, Lena concludes her introductory speech with, “Be nice to her, because she has full artistic liberties as to how you’re portrayed.”

Kara flushes a bright red immediately because that’s definitely _not_ true, but waves at the rest of them sheepishly. “Happy to be here,” is all she can say.

“And we’re happy to have you for the month,” Cat says, looking directly at her. _Ah, shucks_. “You look well, Kara. It’s good to see you again.”

Lena’s eyebrows shoot up as Kara waves again more directly at Cat and tries to transform her grimace into some semblance of a real smile. She bites back the taste of saline that has flooded her senses, and tries not to look as nauseous as she feels.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam tug Lena’s sleeve down, and she resists the urge to look behind her to see if Lucy is watching her at all.

As they’re walking to their rooms, Kara briefly wonders if it would be outrageous to try and convince Lena she hallucinated the whole encounter between herself and Cat, but the notion is dismissed when Lena immediately says, “So, how do you know Coach Grant?”

Sam elbows her. “Dude.”

Lena frowns. “Unless you don’t want me to ask.”

“Too late for that,” Sam mumbles, rolling her eyes at Kara as if to say, _Sorry about my socially inept friend._

“No, it’s okay. We’ve met before,” Kara says easily. It’s not a lie, it’s just not the whole truth, or even close to it. “She must have recognized me, but we didn’t talk more than a couple of times.” Before anyone can say anything further, she brightens at Sam. “Lena says you’ve volunteered yourself for the documentary.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sam practically gushes. “I have lots of stories about her from college and other walks of life she’d rather forget.”

“Great,” Lena mutters, though there’s an undeniable amount of affection in her eyes when she rolls them at Sam.

Kara’s hand rests on the handle of her hotel room, and she offers, “Well, I’ll set up and then you guys can come by whenever?”

“Sounds perfect,” Lena says kindly. Kara watches as the two of them poke and prod each other down the hall and into the room they’ve been assigned to share, and for a brief second entertains the idea that they’re dating each other, but the interactions remind her too much of the sibling dynamic between herself and Alex.

Speaking of, Kara whips out her phone in a panic.

**Alex!!!!**

**[7:06 AM]:** _Have a good flight! Text me  
when you land please  
_ **[8:18 AM]:** _Security went okay?”  
_ **[4:22 PM]:** _Are you dead_

**[4:43 PM]:** _Omgggg sorry I totally  
lost _ _track of time!! I'm fine and  
_ _at the hotel already  
_ **[4:43 PM]:** _Cat Grant recognized me…_

**[4:46 PM]:** _Did Lena notice?_

**[4:51 PM] _:_** _Yep, I just said we have met  
_ _which is technically true so  
_ **[4:52 PM]:** _I’m setting up stuff rn  
but we _ _should talk tonight. I’ll call  
_ **[4:54 PM]:** _Love you!!!_

**Winnegan**

**[4:55 PM]:** _I’m here!!!!!!_

**[4:56 PM]:** _1 2 3 lets go bitch!_

**James O**

**[5:01 PM]:** _Just got here. Can’t thank you  
_ _enough. I know you put in a good  
_ _word with lena. THANK YOU_

**[5:03 PM]:** _You deserve it. Try to enjoy it!  
_ **[5:04 PM]:** _And use your diffuser… !_

Her bags have already been sent up to her room, courtesy of U.S. Soccer, she imagines. She slowly pulls out her equipment, making sure her backdrop hasn’t been smudged, her lights haven’t been broken, and everything is as it should be.

Setting up everything takes considerably less time than she imagined it would be, but lying on her bed by herself instantly sends her mind wandering where she doesn’t want it to. Too many memories and emotions and people she’s tried hard to forget are coming back, and she specifically told her therapist this would ‘not regress her’ and ‘it’s fine’ and ‘I’m over it.’

So, she occupies her time by stalking Lena on Instagram.

Her bio is just tagging the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team along with her club team, San Francisco, which is highly boring and also extremely predictable.

Her posts are normal enough, though. Lots of sponsored ones, showing off the new line of leggings from LuLu Lemon, which Kara appreciates a lot more than she’d admit, or various pictures and captions talking about how Nike apparel is all she ever uses. Kara briefly wonders if she’s ever done a Body Issue shoot, but decides looking that up would be too creepy.

Lena’s Instagram also features a lot of game advertisements, with photos of goal celebrations and other shots of her on the field. Samantha Arias also seems to be a frequent flyer on the page, showing up every six posts or so in a selfie, on-pitch photo, or random other bits and pieces from Lena’s life.

The comments are filled with people thirsting after her, even on posts that don’t even have a face in it. Kara wonders if Lena knows she can post a picture of a tree and get three-thousand comments telling her they want to marry her and have her babies, but from what little she knows about Lena, she guesses the profile is really only there for show and sponsorships. She probably doesn’t even check her notifications.

Her thumb stops scrolling abruptly as she comes across a photo unlike the rest. It’s of her hip area, framed with a soft white background, and a side view. While she’s clearly wearing LuLu Lemon leggings, the sponsorship doesn’t seem to be the purpose of the post, as the top of the pants are rolled down just enough to reveal her hip bone.

Kara tries to ignore the fact that it is now abundantly clear — no pun intended — that Lena probably does a lot of squats, and focuses on the fact that Lena has a tattoo. It’s simple and small, black lines only, and located low enough on her hip that it only makes sense Kara has never seen it before.

Four stars. Three of them look like they’re in a slightly different style, while the fourth is obviously a little fresher. The caption reads: _And another one_.

In an instant, she realizes this must have been Lena’s way of celebrating the 2019 World Cup win, which added another star to their game kits.

The photo has tagged both a tattoo artist and Sam, whose profile Kara has been itching to look at since she followed her a month or so ago. However, in all her hurry and clumsiness, instead of clicking on the tag, she double taps and likes the frickin’ photo. Horrified, she unlikes it, but then wonders if that’s rude, so she likes it again, but then realizes Lena will see the notification and unlikes it, and —

Before she can change her mind about what to do about this stupid post from almost two years ago, she gets a text.

**Lena :)**

**[5:57 PM]:** _Like what you see?_

**[5:58 PM]:** _It’s a nice tattoo :3_

And then, to try and make it less weird,

**[5:59 PM]:** _You guys can come now  
_ **[5:59 PM]:** _Can come for me, to clarify  
_ **[5:59 PM]:** _I meant come TO me  
_ **[5:59 PM]:** _I’m ready for you, I mean  
_ **[6:00 PM]:** _I mean, the camera is now  
_ _ready for you to come  
_ **[6:01 PM]:** _Come do the interviews_

Operation Make It Less Weird: failed.

A knock and a giggle outside her door has her wondering if it’s too late to drown herself in the shower tub.

“I knew what you meant the first time,” Lena says as she walks in with Sam in tow. She seems to revel in Kara’s embarrassment, because she says, “Thoughts on the tattoo?”

What she _wants_ to say is, _I would lick it if you let me_ , what comes out is, “Cute.” Then, before any more talk of that can come through, she says, “Who wants to go first?”

“Lena does,” Sam says immediately. Lena sticks a tongue out at her, to which she scoffs, “What? It’s _your_ documentary.”

“Take a seat on that chair,” Kara says, striding over to where the camera rests on a tripod. She’s fit this one with a 50 millimeter lens instead, and steps behind it to check the positioning and lighting. Lena watches her with an almost uncomfortable amount of focus as she tweaks and plays with settings until she’s satisfied, so she meets her in the eye and quirks a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lena says with a cough. “Just looking.”

She hears Sam snort behind her, and doesn’t miss the glare Lena sends that way, but clears her throat and pretends she hasn’t heard anything at all. “Ready to start?” Lena nods, so Kara continues, “I was thinking we’d do the same as in the car. I prompt you, and you start talking. Don’t worry about making this dialogue-like. It should be more like a TEDTalk, as the editing will cut out all of my parts anyway.”

“Where should I look?” Lena asks, eyes shifting around in a way that’s almost nervous.

She points behind her at the apple she’s set on the table. “Right there.” Lena’s gaze fixes on it. “Perfect.” She clears her throat again, and glances as quickly as she can towards where Sam is lounging on her bed, and then says, “Today, I just want to start with your story.”

“My story,” Lena repeats blankly, focus leaving her mark and back to Kara. “That’s a little heavy, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kara teases. “You haven’t said it yet. But, if that’s too much for today, just talk about why you love soccer.”

With a deep inhale and exhale, like Kara’s just asked the hardest question on the planet, Lena lets her eyes fall back to the apple again. “Well, it’s been a constant in my life. Maybe the _only_ consistent thing. At first it was a hobby, then it was an escape, then it was a passion, then a career… and now it’s all of those things.”

“Talk about each one,” Kara prompts gently, making sure the way the camera captures the way Lena’s eyes glitter as she looks up towards the ambient lighting. Not that Kara notices.

Lena lets out a small burst of laughter, but it isn’t light or humorous. “I always have said I just happened to fall into soccer, but that isn’t true.” She picks at her fingernails, but then, like she did in the car, rips her hands away from each other and tucks them safely in her USA hoodie pocket. “My mother would hate me saying this, which is why I haven’t.” But then she turns to Sam with one of the widest grins Kara has ever seen, if a bit nervous. “But fuck my mother, right?”

“Fuck yeah!” Sam calls from the bed.

She takes a deep breath, and then, looking directly at Kara, she says, “I’m ADHD.” It’s such a small admittance, in the grand scheme of things, but it seems to shake her to her core that she’s actually said it allowed.

As if Sam has read her mind, she pipes up, “Let’s all take notice of how it was harder for her to come out as ADHD than it was for her to come out as gay.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Lena mutters, but she’s smiling as she says it. She clears her throat and seems to refocus herself. “I’m inattentive type, so I hide it well. That and the fact that I was yelled at relentlessly by my parents growing up.” She looks back at the apple. “I take Ritalin every morning, and Vyvanse as needed, and it’s the only thing keeping me on track enough to actually sit down and do this interview.

“I’m a very polished person, and I know that people joke about it,” Lena says. She shrugs. “That’s what happens when you grow up with parents who pick apart every flaw you have. Well, sort of. I was diagnosed as ADHD-Inattentive when I lived with my birth parents, who were great about it. They passed when I was twelve, and I was adopted by my family now. _They_ didn’t really believe in ADHD, or they just thought it would ruin their reputation as a perfect family.

“Either way, I was told it wasn’t true and never to speak of it ever again,” Lena says, wiggling her eyebrows as if this is such a point of rebellion for her. It very well might be, Kara realizes. Lena’s amusement fades to residual hurt as she continues, “If I lost track of what I was saying during a conversation or didn’t get a perfect one-hundred percent or if a teacher even reported that I looked like I was zoning out, I was given an hour long lecture.

“Forgetting chores, losing track of time and having to rush to get ready, impulsively saying things… all these little faults were a common occurrence in my childhood,” Lena says, “especially after I wasn’t allowed to take my medication anymore. And I was trying, I really was, but when your brain is just built differently, it’s hard to pretend it isn’t. To make up for it, I overthought everything and spent every waking second making sure I was perfect. At least, perfect to my parents.

“And that’s a hard habit to break, even as an adult, as it turns out,” Lena tells her, eyes flickering back up to Kara.

The same self-deprecating smile toys on her lips, but then she exhales a little, and before their eyes, it’s like she allows herself to relax. Her shoulders slump an almost unnoticeable amount, her legs shift to a more natural position, and even her face seems not so tense.

“All that self-destruction and struggle made me a pretty anxious kid, and I guess some doctor or teacher or someone suggested I start a sport,” Lena says. “So, soccer. I now know Athletics are super important for ADHD people and kids, and it _did_ help a lot. That must have been why my parents let me keep doing it.”

“Well, I bet you were pretty good at it,” Kara says, and though she didn’t know what reaction she was expecting, it wasn’t a full on laugh.

“I was, but they didn’t think it mattered if I wasn’t a forward,” Lena chuckles. “I played defense until I was sixteen, which they thought was a waste. Which, if you know anything about soccer, is ridiculous,” Lena adds.

“You’d be a good defender,” Kara says on impulse, at which Lena smiles.

“So you’ve said.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and shrugs. “It started as a hobby, but quickly turned into an escape. It still is. When the world is too loud, or my thoughts won’t stop, or I just —“ she exhales a little puff of air. “It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t ADHD. But sometimes it’s like I have the energy and motivation and drive to do a million different things, which sounds great, but really it just feels like you’re going to explode. When I was a kid, I used to deal with that by picking at my nails, which was stopped pretty quickly when my parents started smacking me every time I did it. Going for a run or dribbling a soccer ball took its place.”

“So, when did it become a passion?” Kara asks, and her heart skips a beat at how Lena immediately looks up a little bit panicked.

“Sorry, let me know if I’m rambling about something for too long,” she says. “I try to stay brief, but you told me to talk, but I wasn’t sure how much —“

“No,” Kara says, trying to make up for the fact that it seems like Lena has someone else’s voice in her ear berating her for who knows what. “Talk as much as you want, really.”

Her heart sinks as she realizes Lena has essentially shut down, whether or not she even notices it. Her back has straightened, and Kara bets if she checked she isn’t actually touching the back of it at all, and when she speaks it’s back to the Robot-Lena, the alter ego that suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“Along the way I fell in love,” Lena says simply. “Whether it was because of the things the sport gave me, or the fact that it was time I didn’t have to be at home, or that I am actually really good at it. I suppose all those things worked together. I lived and breathed it. I still do.”

“Not everyone finds a passion at all,” Kara says, realizing Lena isn’t going to say anything else about it. “It’s wonderful you did so young.”

“Lucky, too, that I was able to make a career out of it,” Lena agrees.

“What would you be doing if not this?” Kara asks, hitting a time stamp flag on the footage.

“If I wasn’t playing soccer, I would be working for my parents,” Lena says, with such definitiveness. “They run a company called Luthor Corp, which designs and manufactures hospital equipment.”

“Oh,” is all Kara can say. She tries to hide her surprise, but she supposes her acting skills were never great, if the amusement on Lena’s face is any indication.

“Science and technology didn’t come naturally to me, but the problem-solving did,” Lena says thoughtfully. “Thinking outside the box, trying things that nobody else ever would have thought of. When your mind never stops going, you think twice as many thoughts. Combine that with studying the textbook stuff non-stop, and I would have made a great addition.”

“Not a passion, though,” Kara guesses. Lena shakes her head. She’s quiet. _Too_ quiet. Kara cuts the cameras. “We can stop there for today.” Lena already looks like she’s going to ask if she’s done something wrong, so Kara quickly adds, “I just want to get to Sam before all the natural light is gone.”

Lena nods silently, and smiles hesitantly up at Kara before exiting the set-up and trading places with Sam.

As much as Kara likes to tease Alex about her crush on Sam, the woman is jaw-dropping gorgeous. Kara also knows for a fact she can run a four minute mile and do fifty-seven push-ups in a minute. All in all, completely Alex’s type.

She starts the cameras again, and nods at Sam. “Go ahead and introduce yourself. And talk to the apple, please.”

Sam turns her attention to the designated fruit and says, “I’m Samantha Arias, and I’m Lena’s best friend.”

“For now,” comes Lena’s muffled reply from off to the side.

Biting back a chuckle, Kara asks, “How did you two meet?”

“Lena and I went to college together, though I’m a year older,” Sam says, looking all too pleased about this fact. “We played together at Duke for three years, and then were drafted to different clubs. I went to Europe for a couple years. But we stayed in touch, and have been best friends for, like, eight years now.”

“What was your first impression of Lena?” Kara asks.

“My first impression of Lena was just that she was so… perfect,” Sam says, looking almost sad about why that was. “Like, if we were ten seconds late to practice, she would have a panic attack. When we studied, she would line up all her books and pencils and if any of them were moved out of place, she’d fix them immediately.”

“You say, ‘studied,’” Lena comments, “as if you actually opened a textbook more than twice.”

“Three times,” Sam counters, flipping Lena off. She turns to the apple and exaggerates a sweet smile. “Anyway. She also talked the way you write an email to the President, or something. I thought she was just weird to strangers, but even after we became friends it didn’t change. It made sense after I learned that her parents are total douchebags —“

“— um, sorry,” Kara interrupts sheepishly, “this documentary as a PG rating, so…”

This causes a moment of deliberation for Sam as she considers it. Then, almost comedically apologetically, she says, “I really don’t have another word to describe them.”

The burst of laughter is unstoppable, and Kara just says, “Alright, we’ll move on. What’s it like to play with Lena?”

“Better than playing against her,” Sam says immediately. An affectionate smile takes the place of whatever almost-teasing look she had going on. “She’s fast, smart, and thinks more than anyone else. That ADHD brain might be a negative in life, but on the field it makes her the best. She anticipates plays before they even happen and blocks shots before they’ve been taken. She just sees the game differently.”

“She’s ruthless,” Kara says, recalling all the highlights she’s watched over the years.

If Sam notices the implications of her words, she doesn’t mention it, and just agrees, “She is. She’s gotten her fair share of yellow cards for that, too. But watching her has made me a better player. I commit to plays better and take risks I didn’t used to. We all have.”

“What would you want everyone to know about her?” Kara asks. She checks the time “Last question.”

“Lena is an incredible player, person, and inspiration,” Sam says thoughtfully. “She’s intelligent, witty, kind, loyal, and one of the best people I have ever — or will ever — have the honor of knowing. But don’t wrong her, or she’ll ruin you, and don’t try to nutmeg her, or she’ll play it off and steal the ball so you look like a fool.” A pause. “Not that I’d know.”

With one last check of the lighting and a smile, Kara cuts the cameras. “I think we’re good to stop here for today.”

Sam hangs around after Lena has made her exit, and looks like she wants to say something, but isn’t sure how. Kara pretends not to notice, hoping if she acts like she’s focused on setting up her laptop Sam will work up the courage.

She does, and hesitantly says, “I was surprised Lena even said yes to this.”

This gets Kara’s attention, and she looks back. “Yeah?”

“She’s an incredibly private person,” Sam says, which is clear already. “ And like, it took six months for her to stop apologizing for every little thing around me. She has a tough exterior that’s well-fabricated to do what it must for her, but that’s all it is.”

In other words, Sam is telling her that Lena’s hard shell is a mask. Kara can understand. She nods. “I intend to do her justice with this project.”

“What’s justice for you might not be justice for her,” Sam says, and Kara just shakes her head. Shifting her weight to her other hip, Sam elaborates, “You want to show her truth, and show her story in its entirety, right?” Kara nods. “I guarantee she’s not ready for all of it to come out at once, even if your pretty face has coaxed her into saying it.”

“She thinks I’m pretty?” Kara asks before she can stop herself. She flushes immediately, because that _so_ wasn’t the point.

There’s a tsk-ing noise as Sam just looks at her, highly unimpressed. “Pay attention, please.”

“Sorry,” Kara mumbles, standing up from her computer. She turns, leaning against the desk to face Sam head on. “You’re protective of her.”

“Someone has to be,” Sam says, narrowing her eyes at Kara.

She holds her hands up, as if to say, _I get it_ , and then, “My sister is the same with me, I understand.” Sam tilts her head to one side as if she _doesn’t._ Kara gesticulates towards her lower half. “You know, ‘cause of Stumpy.”

A look of recognition flits over her face for a second, and then she asks, “How’d that happen?”

“Bone cancer,” Kara says, and shifts uncomfortably at the way Sam thinks on that a bit too hard. Hurriedly, she pushes on, wondering aloud, “What’s she really like? Like, with you. What’s she like when she’s totally herself?”

Sam sighs. “She’s funny in a deadpan way, and she’s witty, too. She makes jokes that you don’t even understand until five minutes later, and then it’s the funniest thing in the world. She’s empathetic and kind and hot-headed and between you and me, she’s like, allergic to authority.”

“What makes you say that?” Kara laughs.

“If you ask her to do _anything,_ she totally fights it,” Sam says, rolling her eyes. “She’s the kind of person to be like, ‘I’m doing this because I want to not because you told me to.’ It’s a product of her parents, for sure — douchebags, like I said — but it’s irritating as all hell.”

“Hm,” Kara hums, still reeling from how far Lena’s parents have dug their tendrils into her.

“I think you’ll see her like that,” Sam says thoughtfully, and then clarifies, “You’ll see her how she really is.”

“How do you know that?” Kara asks.

“I just have a feeling,” Sam answers. She scoops her hair into a messy bun, and this time her easy-going smile is back. “The fact that she even let you do this is huge. The fact that she told you about her ADHD is huge, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you. That means something.” She pauses, a shit-eating grin taking over. “And you’re pretty.”

Kara’s heart warms with a breathy chuckle, and she finds her smile still lingering as Sam leaves. Briefly, she considers that she and Alex would actually probably really like each other. The other half of her wonders whether Sam would have ended up being best friends with her instead of Lena if everything hadn’t gone South when it did.

**—**

A knock on the door not long after Sam leaves sends Kara’s heart racing because for a split-second she thinks it might be Cat. She’s definitely not prepared for _that_ conversation, even though she knows logically Cat’s would be the easiest one. Maybe pleasant even, once they got past the extreme discomfort.

Whipping open the door reveals that it is actually Lucy, which she thinks that might be worse, and the absolute last person she wants to talk to.

“Come on in,” she says, trying not to freak out..

Lucy walks in, examining her set-up with an appreciative nod. “It’s good to see you, Kara. We haven’t spoken in a long time.”

“No,” Kara agrees. There’s a heavy silence as Lucy’s gaze travels down to her ankle, which is the elephant in the room, as always. The prosthetic has always been a blessing to Kara, and something she held in almost reverence. Times like these, though, the metal ankle is heavy under the scrutinizing gaze.

Lucy’s cheeks color at being caught staring as she snaps her eyes back to Kara’s, but her tone is soft and serious when she says, “You should be here.”

“I _am_ here,” Kara says dumbly.

The melancholy look on Lucy’s face doesn’t fade at all when she says, “You know what I mean. You should _be_ here. One of us.”

All things considered, Kara has to admire how Lucy cuts straight to the chase. “Thank you. You don’t know how much I wish I was.” She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, and wills her voice not to tremble as she adds, “You’ve done amazing, though.”

“I wish I’d stayed in touch with you,” Lucy says, like she hasn’t even heard Kara at all. She nibbles on her lower lip, looking up at her with such wide eyes it’s a wonder no one has fallen into them yet. “I feel terrible. I always have.”

_Not enough to actually call_ , she thinks bitterly, but plasters a smile on. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your responsibility.” She deep breathes, hoping it’ll clear the taste of plastic and saline that has returned. It doesn’t work. “You were just a kid, too.”

Lucy seems to accept this, though she has that look about her like she wants to argue. “Does Lena know?”

“About…” Kara trails off.

Lucy shrugs. “Anything?”

“She knows I had bone cancer,” Kara starts. She pauses, and then realizes she really hasn’t told Lena much at all when she says, “And that’s it.”

“So she doesn’t know —“

“No,” Kara says firmly. Lucy looks somewhat surprised, but it phases into understanding when Kara pointedly adds, “And I’d prefer it stay that way.”

“Understood,” Lucy says, nodding in that knowing way she does.

She looks like she wants to say something else, so before she goes and brings up another can of worms Kara would rather do anything but talk about, Kara takes it upon herself to ask her own conversation starter. “How was the World Cup?”

The smile that blooms is so deep and unconscious it warms Kara’s heart to the core. “Amazing,” Lucy says. “My first, and I hope not my last.”

“Four goals isn’t bad,” Kara teases, “five if the virtual replay wasn’t looked at every single play.”

Lucy rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but then sobers slightly. “You watched the World Cup?”

“I did,” Kara says, exhaling a little bit. She shifts her weight onto her stable leg. “I’m proud of you guys. All of you. And I’m happy for you as well. Glad to support any way I can.”

A nod is the only acknowledgement she gets, but Kara suspects it’s because Lucy can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it. Instead, she asks, “How is Alex? And your mother?”

“Great!” Kara says, and now _she’s_ the one unable to stop a smile spreading. “My mother has taken up knitting, so if you see me wearing a handmade sweatshirt, mind your own business.” Lucy chuckles. “And Alex is doing really well also. She has such a crush on Samantha Arias, though.”

“Oh?” Lucy says, as Kara claps a hand over her mouth.

Eyes comically wide, she says through the muffle of her hand, “Shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“You were always terrible at keeping secrets,” Lucy muses.

“It’s not my fault I like to talk,” Kara whines, but she flushes at the insinuation of how close she and Lucy really used to be.

The moment fades until they’re just standing there smiling at her, but with a swallow, Kara feels the weight creeping back onto her shoulders. It turns out guilt and bitterness and resentment are heavy to carry around.

“It’s good to see you,” Lucy repeats softly. “I would love to catch up while you’re here this month.”

“Maybe,” Kara says thickly, looking down at her feet. It’s a silent dismissal because she’s about to start crying, if the shudder in her chest or well of tears in her eyes are any indication.

She and Lucy might have been close once, but they don’t have that anymore, and if she’s going to totally break down and ugly sob, she’d much rather do that on the phone with Alex. Sure enough, as soon as Lucy leaves, she’s hitting speed dial.

“Kara,” Alex greets as she picks up. Her tone is cheery, because really, this is supposed to be a celebratory call.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she croaks out.

A sigh so heavy it pushes her own shoulders down comes from across the line. “You knew it would bring up memories, people, places. What’s different?”

“It’s easy to confront your demons when you don’t actually have to,” Kara says. And then there are silent tears streaming down her face, one at a time, but a steady flow nonetheless. “And I feel so guilty because I should be _happy_ for these people. But I wonder why it couldn’t have been them, and then I just feel guilty.”

“This wasn’t like that,” Alex says, the way Kara knew she was going to. “Your cancer was just… dumb luck,” she lands on. “Nothing anyone could do about it. Not you, not me, not the doctors. It just happens sometimes.”

“I know,” Kara whispers.

“Is it too much?” Alex asks.

Kara wants to say yes so she can fly home and cry in her sisters arms, but in the back of her voice she hears her therapist telling her it’s probably a good idea, so she shakes her head. “No, I can do it. I _want_ to do it. I really do like this project.”

This time, it’s Alex’s turn to say, “I know.” And then, “But remember Lena is a big part of what happened, even if she doesn’t know it. Are you sure that’s not going to cause… issues?”

“No,” Kara says, and honestly that might be the only silver lining. “Out of all people, she deserves this too.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t,” Alex reminds her.

“I just — I was scrolling through Lena’s Instagram, and she has all these paid sponsorships and stuff,” Kara sighs. “That could have been me. I was supposed to provide for us. I was supposed to get us a better house and pay off your college debts. I was supposed to change things for us.”

“That wasn’t your responsibility,” Alex says. Kara can visualize all too clearly the way her sister probably is standing with her hand on her hip and a frown on her lips. “Mom never thought that once. Neither did I.”

“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have meant the world,” Kara says. Alex doesn’t argue with that.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Alex whispers, and if she already wasn’t close to tears, the reminder of how much unadulterated love her sister has for her sends another waterfall of tears down her cheeks.

She shudders through a shaky breath. “I don’t even know. I’m thinking about my last camp, and it’s just so bittersweet. Lucy came in to talk, and it just made it worse. It’s not her fault. But her and me in a hotel room…” she trails off, and her voice falls to a whisper. “All I can think about is how it felt to have my leg betray me like that. How Lucy’s face looked when she asked me if I was okay, and the panic in her voice when she called for help. She’s gotten older since then, of course, but her eyes… the way she looked at me tonight was the same.”

“Do you think it might have been traumatizing for her too?” Alex asks.

This stumps Kara enough to halt the tear flow. “I never thought about that,” she says honestly.

“Imagine you in the same scenario, but reversed roles,” Alex says. “You’re having the time of your life, you’re sixteen, and then your roommate collapses in your hotel room. And you have to get help on your own. And then her career is over. Just like that. What’s to say it couldn’t happen to you too?”

“You should be a therapist,” Kara mumbles. Alex lets out a snort and a laugh because that couldn’t be a worse idea.

“Think about it,” she says.

“All I can taste is saline,” Kara whispers. Her lower lip starts trembling again, and she presses her lips together firmly. “Saline and apple juice and cherry Jello. I’m scared, Alex.”

“I know,” Alex says. She clears her throat. “I know you’re scared. And I know it feels real. But you’re done with it all. There’s no port in your chest, and no chemo running through your veins. When you go to sleep tonight, you’ll be in a nice, comfortable hotel bed. Your hospital days are long gone.”

“And I survived?” Kara asks, her voice small.

Alex takes a deep breath. “Yes, you survived.”

“Sometimes I forget,” Kara whispers.

“I know,” Alex says again, and when Kara closes her eyes, she tries to imagine the comforting, firm weight of her sister’s arms around her. “How can I help you?”

There’s tears in her eyes that run down her cheeks, and as they slip past the press of her lips and into her mouth, it only amplifies the idea that there’s saline running through her. She knows it’s not true, but it’s all she can taste, and all she can smell, and even deep breathing just sends her back to that hospital room. Her foot hurts, the way it did before, and no amount of staring at the prosthetic can remind her brain that her foot isn’t there anymore.

She balls her hands into fists and clenches tightly, hoping the pain from the press of her fingernails digging into her palms will take over so her nonexistent foot will stop hurting. “Just talk to me,” Kara breathes, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Well, today I woke up at six in the morning because Kelly keeps telling me it’s life-changing. Turns out it just sucked,” Alex says. “Eight is a perfectly reasonable time to wake up, so if you’ve ever thought about trying the six o’clock wake up, I do not recommend it.”

“Noted,” Kara laughs shakily.

“I tried a new pancake recipe, which you will love, and a new smoothie recipe, which you will hate,” Alex continues. “Tomorrow, eight-year-old Silvia gets adopted. We found her a wonderful family, and tomorrow she gets to be in it legally.”

“That was a hard case,” Kara remembers.

“It was,” Alex agrees. “But it’s a happy ending. There are happy endings everywhere.”

“Thank you,” Kara says quietly. This time, when she takes a deep breath, she smells nothing but the hotel room, and when she exhales it’s smooth and strong.

Kara sits back on her bed as Alex says, “So, tell me about Sam.”

That gets a laugh out of her. She rubs her knee absentmindedly. “Honestly, I think you’d really like each other. She’s funny and kind of mean, like you —“ Alex lets out a, ‘Hey!’ that Kara ignores and continues, “But she’s not as grumpy. Match made in heaven.”

“Fuck you,” Alex says sourly, but Kara can hear her smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kara says. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Right, get some sleep,” Alex says. “And don’t forget to call mom tomorrow or she’ll get mad at _me_.”

After hanging up, Kara allows herself five minutes to wallow, and then will force herself to move on. Unfortunately, she’s halfway through lying on her bed with her face in her hands when there’s another knock on the door.

“Who knew I’d be so popular,” she mutters, hauling herself up and over to the door.

Lena’s eyebrows furrow as the door swings open, revealing what is sure to be an extremely bloodshot and teary Kara. “Oh.”

“Hi, Lena,” Kara says, wondering if she smiles wide enough she’ll be able to hide the fact that she was in the middle of a breakdown.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks. Kara nods silently. Lena bites at her lower lip, and then says hesitantly, “Are you sure?”

Kara sighs. “I told you I had a history with soccer, right?” Lena nods. “Well, it’s just been harder to be here than I thought it would. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”

“I was going to go over the itinerary, so you know what’s on the agenda,” Lena says. “If that would help, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” Kara says, stepping back. “Please, come in.” Lena follows her into the room, letting the door swing shut. Kara collapses on the bed and says, “Hope you don’t mind me sitting. Stumpy needs a rest.”

If she wants to, Lena doesn’t mention that Kara’s crumpled form is a poor excuse for sitting, and just perches delicately on the dresser. “Of course, that’s totally fine.” She clears her throat. “So, tomorrow morning we all have breakfast together in a private hall from the rest of the hotel. Coach Grant will probably make a speech, but for the most part it’s pretty relaxed.”

“Do you think anyone would be okay with being interviewed?” Kara asks.

“Maybe Lucy,” Lena says, thoughtfully. “Although, perhaps you could take the opprotunity to put a request out there. So people can come to you throughout camp as they see fit.”

“Perhaps,” Kara agrees.

“Are you making fun of me?” Lena laughs, but it’s uneasy more than anything.

“No,” Kara assures her. “It’s cute.” She flushes. “The words you use, I mean.”

“Say more,” Lena says, smile now wry and confidently turning into a smirk.

“Now _you’re_ making fun of _me_ ,” Kara complains.

“Well, after breakfast we usually have an hour to change into our team issued training clothes,” Lena says, and though she moves on, the twinkle in her eye remains. “We’ll also be situated with all the necessary equipment for January. January camp is —“

“Health testing and fitness testing,” Kara finishes without thinking. “So tomorrow should just be beep test and other strength stuff, right?”

“That’s right,” Lena says, and if she looks surprised, she doesn’t say anything. “They’ve also added a couple new fitness tests, like the oxygen test for cardio longevity, and some agility tests.”

“Rope ladders and such?” Kara asks.

“And such,” Lena agrees. She cocks her head to one side. “You know, tomorrow might be a great opportunity for you to interview the performance coach.”

“Kal Elliot?” Kara asks.

“Yes,” Lena says. “He’s super nice, very smart, really knows his stuff.”

“Sounds like a good interview,” Kara says with a smile. She peers up at Lena, who looks more uncomfortable than Kara does. The tense in her shoulders and awkward positioning of her half-sit is both highly unacceptable and also a little impressive, because Kara thought for sure she had a monopoly on being awkward and nervous.

“What?” Lena says, feeling watched.

“Come sit,” Kara says, scooting over. Lena gingerly places herself on the other side of the bed, but if anything that’s worse. Kara sighs. “Have you ever relaxed in your entire life?”

“In the womb, I think,” Lena deadpans.

A pause. Then, Kara grins. “You just made a joke. And it was _funny_!”

There’s a genuine chuckle that bubbles up from Lena at that, and although Kara thinks it might be asking too much of her to really chill, her shoulders relax, and she leans back against the headboard. “Don’t be nervous, Kara,” she says. “You’re extremely talented, and very nice. Everyone is happy you’re here.”

“So you’ve said,” Kara yawns.

“Just reminding you,” Lena says. The hum of the heater fills the silence, and Kara thinks she could sit there and just exist with Lena for hours and not get tired of it. The way she breathes, the way her eyes travel around the room, the way her thoughts are so _loud._

Eventually, her itch to fully relax gets the better of her. “Do you mind if I take off my leg?” Kara asks. Lena looks a bit scandalized, but then waves her on. She tries to act casual about it, but Kara can see the way her eyes are glued to Kara’s lower leg out of the corner of her eye. Kara starts peeling off the sleeve, then the liner, and then pulls the whole prosthetic off.

“That was easy,” Lena blurts out, looking surprised.

“It is, thankfully,” Kara says. She shrugs, and crawls under the covers. “Don’t smell it though.”

“Why?” Lena asks cautiously.

“Imagine your shin guards after a two-a-day,” Kara says, “but they’re a slightly porous rubber.” Lena’s nose wrinkles absentmindedly. “Exactly. I’m supposed to wash it every night.” It’s quiet again, and though Kara appreciates that too, she wants to hear Lena talk. “We never finished our twenty questions game.”

“From the first night we talked on the phone?” Lena laughs. Kara nods, flushing slightly at how Lena refers to it as ‘the first night.’ “Kara, I think we’ve asked each other way more than twenty questions by now. We were talking on the phone every other day.”

“I know, but —“ she struggles for the right word. “Humor me,” she decides on finally.

“Alright,” Lena agrees. She thinks on it for a second. “Favorite song right now?”

“Would you laugh at me if I said anything from the Frozen soundtrack?” Kara asks. The genuine giggle threatening to unleash from Lena answers her own question. “Fine,” she huffs, “Superman by Taylor Swift. And you?” she asks, suddenly intrigued because what _does_ Lena Luthor listen to?

“Would _you_ laugh at me if I said I like listening to Disney movie scores?” Lena counters sheepishly.

“Not at all,” Kara says quietly, suddenly brought back to how she used to listen to those in the hospital when she couldn’t sleep. Lena must notice her change in demeanor, but she doesn’t say anything. “Beach or mountains?”

“Mountains,” Lena says thoughtfully. “I think it would be nice to have a cabin out in the mountains of somewhere like the Pacific Northwest.” Her eyes glint. “You look surprised.”

“A little bit,” Kara mumbles, snuggling deeper into the outrageously comfortable hotel bed. “Though maybe I’m just disappointed because you’d be more likely to wear a swimsuit at the beach.”

Lena clicks her tongue with a highly unimpressed, “Hm,” though Kara bets if she were to bother to open her eyes, Lena would be blushing.

“Tell me, why are you single?” Kara asks, and this time she cracks an eye open. 

“Ah-ah,” Lena tuts, “my turn to ask a question. So, why are _you_ single?”

“Trauma?” Kara says. Her lips twist into a surprised sort of smile when she hears Lena actually chuckle at that. “And, to be honest, I wasn’t a very girlfriend-y person during the cancer thing. Or after it.”

“And what would a girlfriend-y Kara act like?” Lena asks.

“Whatever you want,” she hums, rubbing at her knee under the covers. “Although, if we’re being real, I didn’t have a lot of time in the dating department _before_ the cancer. My experience is limited.”

“Fair enough,” Lena says, and Kara hears her adjust herself on top of the covers. She briefly registers how nice and easy it is to is to fall asleep in the presence of someone else, and then she’s being spoken to again. “I think it’s your turn.”

“What was the happiest moment of your life?” Kara asks quietly, waking up just enough to hear the answer.

Lena doesn’t say anything right away, but then decides, “Being called up to the U-20 National team when I was seventeen.” _Well…_ “It was my first introduction to the national team in any regard at all, and it was the best experience of my life. It gave me hope.”

Kara swallows thickly, suddenly glad her eyes are closed so Lena doesn’t see the tears that threaten to well up behind her eyelids. “That’s awesome,” is all she says.

Though she can’t imagine it didn’t happen long after that final exchange, Kara can’t explicitly remember falling asleep.

When she wakes the next morning, blinking awake to her alarm, which she definitely also does not remember setting, she only recalls at how comfortable and easy it was to go to sleep. Not only that, but how unordinary the restful the night was.

A look around her hotel room reveals her prosthetic sleeve is in the kitchenette over in the corner, laid out over the sink to dry after being freshly washed, and her phone has been plugged into the charger on her nightstand.

Opening her phone, she has a text from her mother, Winn, and Alex, all wishing her a good day of some kind, and some texts from Lena from the night before as well.

**Lena :)**

**[9:47 PM]:** _Hi, Kara. You fell asleep last night  
_ _while I rambled about who-knows-what  
_ _for too long. I set your alarm for the next  
_ morning, I hope that’s okay.  
**[9:49 PM]:** _I also plugged in your phone?  
_ **[9:54 PM]:** _Sleep well._

Kara wonders if it’s inappropriate to start crying as soon as you wake up, but as she lays in bed for a little while longer, she decides it’s okay if they’re happy tears.

For the first time in a long time, thinking of Lena brings her nothing but a sense of comfort and happiness. No bitterness, resentment, or sadness. Lena is kind words and good intentions all wrapped up into a green-eyed soccer star. She deserves everything she has, and more.

For the first time in a long time, when she texts Alex, ‘ _Today is going to be a good day_ ,’ she means it.

And for the first time in a long time, Kara starts to feel okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you like! please know i stopped watching at 3x08 because i know they fight and i'm trying to live in denial :(
> 
> quinfebrey on tumblr. come chat!


	3. three

Breakfasts with the team should, theoretically, be the easiest part of this whole thing, but as Kara shuffles down to the private dining hall for the first time, she’s alarmed to realize she’s actually incredibly nervous.

Maybe it’s the distant familiarity of walking around a hotel decked out with U.S. Soccer signs, or maybe it’s the fact that she’ll once again be confronted with pretty much everyone she does _not_ want to see; either way, Kara feels sixteen again.

She can still remember getting dressed for the first breakfast, wondering whether to wear her hair up or down, if she should don U.S. Soccer gear, or dress for comfort. She wasn’t sure what shoes to wear, how much makeup the other girls would have on, and whether she’d have time to pack her bag for training after the meal, or whether she should do it before.

Standing in the elevator alone, Kara can recall how Lucy had asked if she wanted her to wait. She had wanted to say, ‘Yes, please don’t leave me,’ but Kara, ever the self-sabatoger, prided herself in the fact that she avoided inconveniencing people at all costs, so she’d told Lucy to go ahead.

As a result, she had no answers to any of her questions, no directions for how to actually get to the breakfast room, and nobody to ask because it was only the first day and she hadn’t exchanged numbers with anyone.

After getting lost twice on the way, Kara had finally worked up the courage to ask somebody, who looked at her for a split-second like he didn’t believe she was who she claimed to be. He must have eventually decided that nobody would have cared about the U-20 national women’s team enough to try to break into their hotel, because he showed her into the dining hall.

Then, Kara was confronted with another dilemma; what to eat. Apple juice had not yet been ruined for her, but wasn’t the Vitamin C in orange juice supposed to be healthy? Then there was the matter of milk being good for the bones and coffee being sophisticated and caffeinated.  Was she supposed to have some meat for her protein? Or was eggs okay? Fruit? Carbs? Would she be judged for choosing a donut or cereal? How much was she supposed to eat? Did people even care?

After carefully selecting an array of food she’d decide the appropriateness of after seeing everyone else’s plates, Kara had wondered where to sit. If she’d gone down with someone else, she would have been able to just follow them to a table, but there she was, standing alone. It felt a lot like middle school.

Starting her role as Kara’s savior in more ways than one, Lucy had caught her eye and waved her over. Relieved, she slid into the seat, noting how she was dressed similarly to everyone else, and how everyone’s meals looked different from each other’s; you really _could_ eat what you wanted, as long as you were disciplined and smart about it.

Now, ten years later, Kara feels the thud in her heart as thick as that day as a sixteen-year-old, but this time, she’s armed with her camera.

Not only that, but she doesn’t care about what she’s chosen to wear, except that she may or may not have chosen the jeans she did because she knows her legs look good in them, she does not get lost, _and_ what she chooses to eat as almost no consequences either.

It’s only after she’s standing there, yet again, with a plate of food and nowhere to go that she feels a shred of anxiety creep back up, but this time, it’s Lena and Sam who wave her over.

Gratefully, she deposits herself at the empty seat around the table, and it strikes her then that Lena and Sam aren’t exactly rookies; the idea that a seat at their table was left open couldn’t have been a coincidence. This is confirmed when Lena says, “I saved you a seat,” warming Kara’s heart in a way she almost didn’t think was possible anymore.

“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbles in response through a welcome mouthful of eggs.

“Not a problem at all,” Lena says, waving her off. It’s her turn to look apologetic as she says, “I was actually wondering whether I should come check on you, but I figured you would want to sleep in.”

“Thank you for plugging in my phone and all that,” Kara says, as if it didn’t literally make her _cry_ at seven in the morning. Lena just smiles at her, and then turns back to where Sam is making fun of Mal for something.

“Aren’t you, like, twelve?” Sam is saying as Mal sticks her tongue out at her. “Are you even allowed to drink coffee?”

“You’re just jealous I’m so young,” Mal shoots back. “You’ll be old and gray long before me.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Sam says, suddenly looking stricken. “I forgot about going gray. Shit.”

“You’re twenty-seven, calm down,” Lena says, rolling her eyes.

Sam looks like she’s about to throw back an indignant retort, although Kara isn’t sure what it’ll be because as far as she knows, Sam _is_ twenty-seven. Before she can open her mouth, Tobin smacks Sam across the back of the head from the table next to them.

“Shut up, all three of you,” she grumbles, “Cat’s about to make a speech.”

“Thank you for kindly letting us know,” Sam drawls. Her tone drips with sarcasm, but they all dutifully turn towards the front, and, sure enough, Cat steps up to the center of the room and climbs up on a chair to talk.

“A warm welcome to the first day of January camp,” Cat greets. Her voice carries clearly through the room, and looking around, it’s clear that everyone adores her. The rookies have something like reverence on their faces, and the veterans have a warm respect. “I’ll keep this brief, but I wanted to remind everyone that you would not be here if it wasn’t deserved. However, no spot is ever secure.”

“Why’s Leslie here, then?” Sam mutters under her breath. Lena sends her a warning glare that in any other circumstance might be highly effective, but it does little to subdue her when Tobin starts snickering under her breath as well.

“Will you two stop it?” Lena hisses at them, straightening up immediately when Cat turns to look at their table pointedly.

“Veterans, I trust I can rely on you to show the rookies how it’s done, and how we conduct ourselves as a team,” she says meaningfully. Sam has the decency to look down, and Tobin coughs likely before tipping the front two legs of her chair back down and facing front. “Alright, get out of here. Bus leaves in twenty.”

“You two are unbelievable,” Lena practically growls as they gather up their things to leave.

Cat Grant starts looking around in a manner that sends sirens off in Kara’s brain because she just _knows_ Cat is looking for her specifically. Feeling like a fool, but wanting to avoid a conversation with Cat even more, Kara shoves herself right behind Lena as much as she can without being weird, and manages to hide behind her all the way to the elevator.

“So, um, what’s the deal with…” she trails off, looking around, and then whispers, “Leslie.”

“You heard that, huh?” Sam says, looking awfully pleased with herself.

The poke of the second floor button is much more aggressive than necessary, but Lena sighs and fiddles with the cuff of her sleeve. “She’s not exactly… popular on the team.”

“You’re being nice, L,” Sam says, rolling her eyes. She turns to Kara as the doors slide open. “Lena has to be diplomatic because she’s one of the most senior veterans. Setting an example, and all that.”

“You’re just as senior as I am,” Lena says with an amusing chuckle. Kara follows them down the hall to their room, still not sure who Leslie even _is_. Lena must read her mind because she ushers them past the door, and when it’s fully shut says, “Go ahead, Sam.”

Sam looks absolutely delighted as she starts packing her bag. “Leslie joined the team only a couple years ago, and even then her first year was only six call-ups and one cap. She isn’t even that good of a player, which is why it’s so strange that she’s been pushed on us as a consistent person.”

“It’s strange because she’s also a terrible human being,” Lena clarifies as she folds up an extra jacket and slips it into her own bag.

With a wave of a protein bar and a wry smile Sam says, “That’s one way to put it. She refused to wear the Pride jerseys for June camp last year, and she’s a shitty team player. She never wants to do anything, and I’ve heard that if you room with her you just straight up don’t talk.”

“Does _anyone_ like her?” Kara asks, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the idea that there are team politics she’s going to have to learn how to maneuver.

Lena and Sam share a look, and eventually Lena says, “Siobhan and her could be described as… allies. Siobhan is much nicer, and also a decent player, but sort of like Leslie in the sense that she isn’t friends with anybody. They don’t spend time together, or anything like that, but they’ll team up with each other for passing drills.”

“It’s just weird,” Sam says, leading them back out of the hotel room. “I asked Alex Morgan about it, and she said that never happened while she was on the team.”

Of course, Kara knows who Alex Morgan is. She retired a few years ago, and will go down in the books as a legend with Abby Wambach, Mia Hamm, Brandi Chastain, and eventually, probably Lena Luthor. She shakes her head slightly, catching up. “What never happened?”

“Like, a player just… splitting off,” Sam says, shrugging. “Alex said everyone was always friends. Some closer with others, but it was one big family. For the most part it’s like that now; even Siobhan comes and has good time at bonding events, it’s just Leslie.”

“Hm,” is all Kara says.

“Indeed,” Lena agrees.

**—**

Any worry about what the bus ride would entail is immediately quelled when Lena, half-way up the bus steps, turns back and says, “Sam is usually my bus buddy, but we’re kicking her out so you can film an interview.”

She hears Sam behind her make some sort of noise that’s a mix between agreement and displeasure, and she sighs in relief as she follows Lena to the back. Lucy gives her a half-wave, and Kara smiles as best she can, though from Lucy’s expression, she’s pretty sure it came out looking a lot more pained than she intended.

Kara follows Lena into the designated row and sits on the aisle seat while Sam shoves Mal out of the aisle seat across the row and deposits herself into it.

“Alright, then,” Sam says, nodding to the camera in Kara’s hands. “Let’s hear Lena spill her secrets.”

“Nothing juicy this time,” Kara says apologetically, calibrating the tracking zone of the gimbal. Lena looks highly relieved when she says, “Just some questions about the fitness testing here.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Lena says with a smile.

Kara waits for the hiss of the bus to start moving, and hopes the mic will be able to appropriately split Lena’s voice from the noise of the road and the rumble of the other players.

“Alright, remember to respond in full sentences so the context of the answer is clear,” Kara says, starting the recording. “What’s your favorite fitness test?”

She hears a groan from behind her, but thinks nothing of it until Lena easily answers, “My favorite fitness test is by far the beep test.”

“ _What?_ ” Kara says, unable to let the disdain slide from her voice. “Describe the beep test for the viewers at home, please.”

“The beep test is a measure of endurance,” Lena says simply. She adjusts the collar of the team-issued training jacket, and reaches into the pocket for a roll of pre-wrap. “There are two lines of cones set a designated number of meters apart, and you have to run from one line to the next, and then back, before the beep. The beeps progressively will get slightly faster, meaning the longer you’ve been running, the faster you have to run.”

Suspicions confirmed, Kara nods. “Right, well, I haven’t taken that since I was like, sixteen, but I’m pretty sure it sucks.”

“Yeah, it _does_ , but Lena is a total freak, and is really good at it,” Sam pipes up, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Her record is, like, sixty-eight or something. It’s a team best too.”

Lena shrugs, turning her attention back to the spot Kara gave her over the shoulder. “The truth is, everyone here theoretically has the ability to break my record and then some. The beep test is all mental.”

Kara waves her ankle around. “I beg to differ.”

Lena cracks a smile. “If it makes you feel better, my least favorite fitness test is the O2 test.”

“The one on the treadmill?” Kara asks without thinking. Lena looks surprised, like she’s wondering how Kara identified it so quickly, but has the decency not to say anything as she continues, “With the mask over your face?”

“Yeah, you run at a consistent pace with an oxygen and heart rate monitor attached,” Lena says, lip curling in disgust. “It measures the intake and output of oxygen, and is supposed to help show how much oxygen we actually use, and our threshold for when we start fatiguing our muscles instead of our lungs.”

“What’s so bad about that one?” Kara laughs. “It’s just running.”

“It’s _terrible_ ,” Lena huffs.

“What happened to it being all mental?” Sam calls from the row across.

With exceptionally good aim, Lena hurls the roll of pre-wrap at her and hits Sam square in the forehead. It falls into her lap as Lena sticks her tongue out. It’s brief, and if Kara hadn’t caught it on camera, she might think she hallucinated the whole thing, because last time she checked Lena was a robot.

This first-hand experience with the other side to Lena that Sam described is equally heart-warming as it is bittersweet, because it’s firsthand evidence there’s a whole section of her personality that Lena doesn’t feel comfortable showing to the world, even now as a grown adult.

Kara knows the world — or, hard core soccer fans, at least — would _love_ this Lena as much as she does, and decides that maybe Lena isn’t ready to spill her guts about her insecurities and childhood trauma, but slipping in little bits of her just being herself could be a gateway.

After that, it’s like the floodgates open, and all of a sudden Kara can see bits of Lena she didn’t notice before.

The way she wiggles her eyebrows at Christen from across the bus when she overhears an inside joke, the way she pouts when Sydney leans over from the row behind them to slide her pre-wrap headband off the back of her hair, to the way she leans forward to snap Kristie’s off.

When an alarm on her phone goes off, Lena mumbles, “Hey, stop that,” in a way that shouldn’t be highly endearing, but is.

It also isn’t lost on Kara the way Lena seems to be so mindlessly selfless. Despite them being almost last to get off the bus, she jogs ahead to the front of the group to hold the training door for everyone, and then wordlessly rejoins her and Sam as they follow the rest of the group inside.

Once there, she leaves them yet again to grab bottles of water and electrolytes from the staff and starts passing them out to her teammates. It reminds Kara a lot of the way she had reached out to catch the weight of Kara’s backpack when she’d swung it over her shoulder so it was gently set against her back instead of hitting her full force.

The most important part of it all is the way nobody seems surprised. The rest of the team thanks her, of course, but they all do so as if it is the norm. Even the staff seem to be practically expectant, smiling at Lena as soon as they spot her, and wordlessly falling into position with her as their hands move bottles and organize everything.

It makes the transition all the more interesting when they step into the training center, and Lena transforms into what Kara can only describe as “work mode.” This isn’t robotic or highly calculated, nor is it goofy and silly, nor is it soft and cuddly. This is pure determination, focus, and a glint in her eye telling everyone that not only does she _want_ to be the best, she probably actually _is_.

The trainer, Kal Elliot, looks surprisingly familiar as he takes them through the exercises for the day. Kara tracks around him on a shouldered gimbal as he motions to where U.S. Soccer staff are waiting at each station for them.

“You’ll start with the power test which is measuring exactly how much effort you can put into pushing upwards,” Mr. Elliot explains. “Jumping for headers, starting a run, even your kicking strength stems from this.”

The veterans are nodding along, like they’ve done it before, and as Kara pans around the circle, she vaguely hears Tobin whispering to Sam she bets her twenty dollars her score will be better. The rookies, on the other hand, look terrified, like they could be told to add up “two” and “two” and they’d still mess up.

Kara understands the feeling.

“Then, you’ll move on to free jumping,” Mr. Elliot says, lifting up various pieces of equipment at that station. “Jumping straight up, jump off of a box, and then a standing broad jump. From there, a reflex test.” He nods to Lena, who immediately moves into position, in the center of what looks like five poles arranged in a circle. “A green light will shine, creating a beam. Your job is to watch, break the light beam with your hand, and not miss any.”

“We’ll end with my favorite!” Lena says brightly, and Kara is delighted to find the camera doesn’t miss the grin on Lena’s face or the groan that rises from the crowd.

“You all know the beep test,” Mr. Elliot agrees. Amusement laces his tone as he shrugs his shoulders over to the line of cones. “Self-explanatory. See if you can beat Lena’s sixty-eight.”

“No one likes a show-off!” Sam calls from the back, leaving the rookies looking scandalized that anyone would actually make fun of Lena’s to her face. All heads swivel to see what Lena’s reply will be, and it ends up, as polished and formal as one can make it, a neat little middle finger.

As the team dissolves into conversation, Kara resists the urge to look surprised. It doesn’t really work when Sam catches her expression and laughs.

“She’s sure a Slytherin,” Kara says mindlessly, trying to downplay the flush crawling up her cheeks.

Sam blinks at her. Then, she lets out a shout of a laugh. “Wow, no wonder Lena chose you. You’re a nerd.”

“I am _not_ ,” Kara says, highly-affronted, even though it’s true.

“You just referenced _Harry Potter_ ,” Sam says, taking alternating sips of her water and electrolyte bottle. “At a _sports_ event, no less.”

“Kara’s a Slytherin too,” a voice says from behind them. Kara cuts the footage and lowers the camera as Lucy slides up from a cluster of people trading pre-wrap. “You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of her, eh?”

“You’re joking,” Sam says, waving a hand dismissively. She takes one last sip of each bottle, then caps them and tosses them in the direction of her bag. “Kara is the most Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen.” Then, she tilts her head to one side, looking her up and down. “Or maybe a Gryffindor, if we’re being generous.” She scoffs. “But a Slytherin? No.”

“You seem to know a lot about Harry Potter,” Kara says, narrowing her eyebrows. “Are you sure _you’re_ not the nerd?”

A beat of silence.

“Okay, fine, I see it,” Sam says, throwing her hands up. She makes grabby hands at the blue pre-wrap in Lucy’s hands.

“Honestly, it’s like Kara’s a Slytherin in a Hufflepuff shell, and Lena is the opposite,” Lucy observes, tossing the roll over.

Making a non-committal sound of agreement, Sam unwinds loops the end of the roll around her neck, and as she’s pulling a strand off, she frowns. “Hang on, how do you two know each other?” she asks, handing the roll back.

“Um, well, you know,” Kara stammers. Sam ties the ends of the strip around her neck and raises her eyebrows as if to say, _Actually, I don’t_.

“We were friends when we were kids,” Lucy says, flashing Sam a smile.

Eyes narrowed, Sam fits the headband around her ponytail. “Hm,” is all she says, and Kara sighs at the way she is both a lot more intuitive than Lena, and a lot less tactful.

As they start meandering through the various fitness tests, with Sam going right before Lena, Kara remarks through the camera lens at how the two represent the full spectrum of female soccer players.

While Sam is all lanky and lean muscle, Lena has thick, muscular thighs and a more sturdy build to her. While Sam is agile and quick on her feet, Lena is power and stamina. Sam outpaces her in the first test, and they go back and forth within the second. A coach notes that while Sam scores better in the reflex test because she’s quicker, Lena tracks the light faster.

Both are incredibly strong, athletic players at peak performance, and it’s while standing on the sidelines and watching them run pace for pace beside each other that Kara realizes they are both highly attractive. On Alex's behalf, she reminds herself to ask Sam if she's single.

Lena’s legs pump effortlessly with a kind of repetitive stride any competitive runner would kill to have. Her lungs heave with progressive exertion, but her eyes are unfocused, and it’s clear her body is cycling on autopilot at this point.  While Sam runs similarly, it’s notable almost immediately the way her eyes are constantly looking for something to distract her rather than being able to just stop thinking about it. Her strides are longer, and her breathing is even more steady than Lena’s, but her movement seems purposeful rather than like machinery, as if she’s consciously putting one foot down in front of the other.

Behind them Tobin, Christen, Lucy, Mal, and Heather are all running with various advantages in stride or lung capacity or leg length, and it’s then that Kara realizes what Lena said on the bus was _true_.

Theoretically, she _isn’t_ considerably any more fit than the rest of them, especially the veterans like Sam and Tobin who have been training at a national level as long as she has. They all have strengths and weaknesses just like Lena does in her running, but she’s the only one who has completely taken herself out of what’s happening.

“Amazing, huh?” Mr. Elliot pipes up from where he’s walked up from behind her.

“Huh?” Kara startles, lowering the camera. “Oh, yeah. Lena is…”

“One of a kind,” he finishes for her. He smiles faintly, and there’s an affection in his eyes that could almost be read as maternal. “I’ve seen a lot of my players in my day, and none like her. Not yet.”

That’s not too difficult to believe, especially as the minutes tick on, and players drop out one by one as they either tap out or miss two reps in a row and are disqualified.

Trying to work up the courage to say something, Kara pretends to fidget with her camera until it’s pretty clear she’s not doing anything. She straightens up. “Mr. Elliot, right?”

He turns. “Call me ‘Kal.’”

“Would you mind doing a short interview?” Kara asks, gesturing to the setup perched halfway up her shoulder. “Ten minutes, just to talk about Lena from your perspective as her fitness coach.”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, shifting the clipboard to his other hand and folding his arms amicably.

“Great,” Kara says, lining him up in the frame and lowering a pole down to the ground for added stability. “I’ll give you some prompts, and just answer them in a way that repeats the context.”

“Sounds good,” he says, shooting her a thumbs up. She has to admit he looks the part perfectly, what with the stopwatch around his neck, the clipboard tucked under one arm, and the fitted tracksuit that matches the team issued training clothes perfectly

“So, tell me about Lena,” Kara says, hitting a timestamp on the footage. “Her history, herself as an athlete.”

The sappy, paternal grin is almost loopy as he starts, “Lena is incredible. She’s by far one of the most memorable players I have ever had the honor of coaching. I met her when she was seventeen, and already there was just something about her.” He shifts his gaze over to where Lena is steadily pumping out level after level. “Even though she wasn’t trained physically to national standards, her athleticism has never been that.”

“She said on the bus it’s mental for her,” Kara pokes in.

Confirmation passing through his eyes, Kal nods. “Exactly. Physically, her stats are similar to the rest of the players here. She’s not some superhuman of strength or some miracle who happens to have different oxygen intake. Every player evens out here because they’re better at one thing and worse at another. Lena is no different. But what gives her the leg up is how she can just disengage herself at the drop of a hat.”

“She would be a great cross-country runner,” Kara muses. “Does this aspect to her have a downside?” she asks, because she already predicts the answer. Kal gives her a knowing look, but he doesn’t comment as he continues.

“It does, sometimes. Her problem is she doesn’t know her own limits,” he says, a frown taking over. “People joke that she’s a robot, and while she’s not _actually_ , Ido believe she could mentally go on longer than she physically would be able to. So sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop before she over-fatigues herself, or once she pulled a muscle and ran three more miles on it.”

Kara winces. “You think she doesn’t feel it?”

“I do believe that,” he says, eyes tracking her stride, which is as consistent as ever. They watch as Sam peels away from the three person line of Lena, Heather, and Tobin running back and forth, and starts walking herself down from the run. “I make sure to be on top of observing her movement very carefully. Any discrepancies in her pace or cadence is noted immediately because she won’t. She’s better at monitoring herself during games, but still.”

“She runs like a robot,” Kara can’t help but commenting. Tobin’s stride has changed, hip flexors probably tiring, but Lena is still pumping away with a consistency that Kara likens a lot to the chug of a train.

Kal actually laughs at that, tearing his eyes away from the running group. “She does, and luckily it makes it that much easier to spot issues, which is so important. I mean, you know how soccer injuries can escalate.”

“Yeah, I do,” Kara replies mindlessly. Then, “What?”

A nervous chuckle bubbles its way up from Kal’s throat, and Kara cuts the cameras. “I have to be honest, I know who you are. Sort of.” Kara’s breath hitches. “Zorelle, right?”

She lowers the cameras all the way, and tries to swallow down the panic that starts to rise without her permission. “It’s Danvers now.” In the back of her mind, a memory is conjured up of a soccer kit top with the name ‘Zorelle’ and the number six on the back.

He nods. “Right, so your badge says.” She waits for him to explain. “I met Lena when she was seventeen, right after she first got called up to the U-20 team. I was an intern. Ten years ago.”

_Ah_.

“Oh.”

As if watching a tennis match, his eyes flit back and forth from where Tobin has now tapped out, to Kara again. “Lena doesn’t know, does she?”

“No,” Kara says shortly, inhaling through her mouth so as to avoid the sickly smell of hospital sheets.

His head bobs lightly in acceptance. “Well, I won’t be the one to tell her.”

“Thank you.” She tries to turn her attention back to the beep test, which is now on level fifty-nine, but out of the corner of her eye she can see Kal watching her still. She sighs. “What?”

It’s obvious he’s deliberating about something, and then, looking almost like he’s nervous he says, “You know, if you ever wanted to learn to run again, I could help you.”

“Um, how did you — I mean, I — well, it’s —“ she tries to stammer out some sort of coherent thought, but they’re all starting to sound like nonsense, and the more she swallows the more she can taste the saline.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You’re not,” Kara assures him quickly, head swimming. “I _do_ want to… I mean, it’s been ten years. And I really do like to run, I just — it’s not —“ The lights are suddenly much too fluorescent, so she closes her eyes the way she’s supposed to, and deep breathes the way her therapist taught her, but then that’s worse because now she’s smelling the sterile waft of rubber and hearing the incessant beeping and —

“Kara.” A hand lightly comes to rest on the small of her back.

Kara blinks her eyes open. It’s Sam, looking confused, but concerned, and Kal behind her looking more nervous by the second. “I’m okay,” she says, and tries to convincingly look like she means it. “Just dizzy. I haven’t drunk a lot of water today.”

Sam wordlessly passes her a new bottle she’s found on the ground.

While Kal has disengaged by stepping towards the beep test again, he looks back. “Remember, it’s all mental.”

He’s right, of course. Kara takes a sip of water, and when she shudders in a deep breath, she’s suddenly glad to smell the grossness that is the sweat and humidity of an indoor training center. “I’ll think about it,” she promises, and she thinks she might actually mean it.

She occupies her brain, which is now on overdrive trying to self-soothe, with watching the rest of the beep test. Lena comes in first, two levels past Heather, but still two more just shy of her own record.

After that, Kal releases them to a recovery of their choice.

“Ice baths,” Lena says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Sam says, firmly grabbing her arm and tugging her towards a door on the far right.

“Why?” Lena complains. “They’re quick.”

The scoff that ensues is practically guttural. “They’re torture,” she corrects, as the two of them follow. She casts a look back at Kara as she pulls open the door handle. “Lena is a freak who enjoys ice baths, but as I’m a normal person, we’re going to go swimming for our recovery.”

“Who likes ice baths?” Kara asks, nose wrinkling.

Lena starts to open her mouth as if to reply, but through the muffle of tugging her shirt off over her head, Sam shuts her up with a, “If you say, ‘it’s all mental,’ I’m going to give you a smack.”

Lena makes a face at Kara as if to say, _You see what I have to deal with?_ and then dutifully strips off her own kit. Both of them jump into the pool, with Lena immediately beginning laps, and Sam treading over to where Kara perches herself on the bench.

“Having fun?” Sam asks.

Kara tears her eyes away from where she was definitely _not_ watching the flip of Lena’s legs as they paddle through the water. “No.” She frowns. “Wait, what?”

“Here, doing this project,” Sam says, eyebrows furrowing in amusement. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, surprised to find she actually means it. “Everyone has been nice, and it’s cool to be here too.”

“Good,” Sam says, decidedly satisfied with this answer. She turns back to where Lena has slowed to treading absentmindedly in the water. “You know, if you wanted a girlfriend, all we gotta do is have Kara snap a picture of you dressed like that. Post it on Instagram, and I guarantee you'd have a girlfriend within the day if you wanted.”

“I’m only wearing a sports bra and spandex,” Lena says, looking down at herself through the water.

“Exactly.” Sam turns back to Kara, rolling her eyes, but eyebrow quirking at the way Kara is absolutely blushing.

“Stop it,” Lena says, and now it’s her turn to roll her eyes and flush. “You know I don’t have —“

“— time to date, yeah, I know,” Sam finishes for her. She splashes some water in Lena’s direction, but it falls pitifully back into the pool halfway there.

Lena turns to Kara. “I don’t really date. My friends say I’m married to the job.”

“Why?” Kara asks. Lena tilts her head to one side. “Why do they say that?” she clarifies.

“Because I am,” Lena admits. She chuckles, but the little shrug she gives hints at something deeper. “I’ve never been good at giving myself what I need. Friendships, relationships.”

“That’s true,” Sam pipes up. “We’re only friends because I wouldn’t leave her alone until she talked to me.” She’s cut off from continuing with a splash of water directly in her mouth, but the set of Lena’s jaw says that it’s probably true.

“We’re _supposed_ to be doing recovery,” Lena says pointedly at Sam, and then, turning back to Kara with a much softer tone, “So if you want to just go back to the hotel that’s fine. I don’t want you to get bored or anything, and we’ll be back in a bit.”

“Sure,” Kara says, thinking of the hours of footage she already has to cull. She rises to her feet and whips out her phone to call an Uber. “When you’re back, though, would you mind coming to my room for another interview?”

“Of course,” Lena agrees.

**—**

Because she can practically feel Alex’s wrath over the fact that it’s been close to forty-eight hours since their mother has heard from Kara, she settles back into her hotel bed and hits speed dial.

“Finally,” is the first thing her mother says.

Kara laughs. “Good to hear your voice, too,” she teases.

“I’m happy you called,” Eliza says as Kara puts the call on speakerphone. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Kara says, already wondering how much she should say. “Everyone is really nice, and I think it’ll be a really interest documentary.” She pauses, and bites at her lower lip while her mother patiently waits. “Cat Grant is here.”

“Oh?” Eliza says. “And how’s that?”

“I’ve been avoiding her,” Kara admits. “But I know eventually I’m going to have to interview her for this, probably several times.”

“She really did care about you,” comes her mom’s coaxing tone. “She probably still does.”

“I know,” Kara says. She shuffles around for a more comfortable position, and then continues, “It would probably be good for me to talk to her anyway. Closure, and all that. I don’t know.”  
“I should think so too,” Eliza agrees. Kara resists the urge to mutter, ‘Of course you do,’ and instead listens while she adds, “I know you’re not telling me everything, and that’s okay because I know you talk to Alex. But no more bottling it up, okay?”

“No more,” Kara agrees.

There’s a pause, and when Kara closes her eyes it’s like her mom is right there, breathing with her and holding her steady. “Kara, I’m proud of you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, and though her throat is tight when she swallows, she manages to get out, “Thank you.”

Lena finds her in much of the same position two hours later, and Kara hears a cautious turn of the door handle when she calls out, “It’s open!”

Tenderly, like she’s worried she might break something if she steps too hard, Lena closes the door behind her and sits at the foot of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” Kara mumbles. She’s lying flat on her back, legs outstretched, arms crossed over her chest.

She hears Lena hesitantly clear her throat, and then says, “Are you sure?”

Kara sighs, but it’s more at herself than anything. “This project needs to be perfect,” she says, gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

Lena smiles at her, reaching halfway across the bed before flushing and detracting her hand. “It will be.”

She shakes her head, suddenly flustered, desperate, and nervous. “No,” Kara insists, “you don’t understand. It needs to be _perfect_.”

Looking like she wants to say she _does_ understand, Lena refrains, and instead asks, “Why?”

It takes a second for Kara to gather her thoughts, but Lena patiently waits for her reply as always. Eventually, her voice crawls down to a gentle beg as she says, “This is my comeback project. I may have understated how much I was effected by the cancer thing.”

“Meaning…” Lena trails off.

Kara sighs. “For years, I wasn’t in a good place. I started dabbling with sport photography only a couple years ago after careers in journalism photography that never went anywhere because I wasn’t in a place to commit to any kind of… anything.”

“This is the biggest project to date, then?” Lena guesses.

A nod. “And it’s just me. I’m not a second-shooter, I’m not going over someone else’s work. I’m filming, directing, and editing all on my own,” Kara says, looking down at the camera in her hands. “It needs to be perfect. It needs to be the project that tells them I’m all better now.”

“Are you?” Lena asks. Her gaze is as wide as it always is, and her startlingly light green eyes still make Kara take a half-breath every time they lock gazes with her.

Relishing the moment to actually look into Lena’s eyes for the first time, she takes in a half breath at how the color seems to change slightly. A darker hazel under the intensity of athletics, a playful green when she is as relaxed as she’ll ever be, and now, tinted with blue, it’s like the first, curious blade of grass that peeks its way above new snow.

Most of all, beyond the question is the unadulterated feeling that Lena actually cares. This isn’t her asking because she wants a certain answer or because she’s trying to just be nice or because she thinks she’s supposed to ask, this is her asking because she’s interested in what Kara will have to say.

As much as Kara loves Alex, and she does with all her heart, she knows it must be tiring to be going in circles with Kara for years over this. As much as Alex loves Kara, there’s always that inevitable twinge of annoyance in the back of her throat whenever they talk about the whole thing because it’s just frustrating for _both_ of them.

Kara can barely even sit down and converse with her mother about it without breaking down because of all the implications and difficulties they’ve had over the past decade. Her mother asks her if she’s okay not because she wants an honest answer, but because she needs to know that Kara’s still there.

At this point, Kara is so used to being asked how she’s doing out of necessity more than anything, but Lena just… cares.

_Are you?_

Kara thinks about the days she’ll walk around eating and drinking everything, but tasting nothing but saline and apple juice and cherry jello. She thinks about the nights she’s spent wishing she were dead, and the days she’s stumbled through trying to resist the urge to make it happen. She thinks about the bad dreams, the straight up night terrors, and the way that none of them could ever compare to what actually happened.

Kara thinks about the way fluorescent lights still make her nauseous and dizzy, and the way every morning she wakes up with her eyes shut tight because she’s scared she’ll open them and see another hospital room. She thinks about the way she asks Alex, _I survived, right?_ like she’s secretly hoping she didn’t.

She thinks about the way she couldn’t look in the mirror for months until she was forced to during physical therapy. She thinks about how it took her four years to wear shorts by herself, and another three to wear them in public. She thinks about how, no matter how hard she tries, she’s scared that this permanent state of anger and hopelessness masked by a sunny smile will be who she is forever.

And Lena is still looking at her, patient and kind, waiting to receive whatever Kara says with open arms. Even her _therapist_ doesn’t look at her like that, and though she knows that’s not what Lena wants from her, Kara just wants to make her happy.

So she swallows down the honesty that wants to be choked up, smiles as brightly as she can, and says, “Yeah, I’m better now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quinnfebrey on tumblr. come chat!

**Author's Note:**

> quinnfebrey on tumblr. come chat!


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